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SEA-SPRAY: 


LONG  ISLAND  VILLAGE. 


BY 


MARTHA    WICKHAM. 


DERBY  &  JACKSON,  119  NASSAU-STREET. 
CINCINNATI  :   H.  W.  DERBY  &  Co. 

1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857, 
By  MRS.  M.  D.  ROCKWELL, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New-York. 


g  CUnaJ 


STOLED  steward  of  God's  mysteries  !  to  whom  blest  charge  is  given 

To  guide,  with  gentle  voice  and  hand,  the  truant  home  to  Heaven, 

Go  watch  for  souls  ;  to  win  and  wear  (so  God  thine  efforts  bless), 

His  jewelled  crown,  who  many  turns  from  sin  to  righteousness. 

To  thee!  blest  bearer  of  good  news,  'mid  sorrow's  chequered  scenes, 

This  mite,  from  one  who  "  would  do  more,  but  that  her  head  lacks  means." 


SEA-SPRAY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WINTER,  I  love  thy  grandeur  ;  thy  stern  voice 

Is  full  of  solemn  music  unto  me, 

Waking  long  buried  memories  ;  I  rejoice 

Thy  dark  and  tempest-telling  clouds  to  see, 

Lifting  their  giant  wings  in  the  far  North, 

Or  sailing  on  their  fearful  errands  forth ; 

While  cold  winds  waken'd  from  their  caverned  sleep 

Goad  the  vex'd  billows,  till,  with  maddening  leap, 

In  bellowing  rage,  "  Deep  calleth  unto  Deep." 

THE  last  rosy  flush  of  a  surpassingly  bland  and  beautiful 
day  in  December,  fell  over  the  little  village  of  Sea-spray. 
The  sun  had  set,  but  the  western  sky  was  yet  glowing  with 
floods  of  golden  light,  and  the  whole  clear  expanse,  above 
and  around,  was  bright  in  the  softly  fading  gleam. 

It  was  a  pleasant  hour — that  quiet  interval  between  day- 
light and  darkness ;  and  it  was  a  pleasant  village,  too,  that 
now  lay  dozing  in  its  soothing  glimmer.  There  was  nothing 
remarkable  in  the  simple,  unpretending  village  of  Sea-spray, 
which  stretched  itself  about  a  mile  from  the  Atlantic  shore, 
on  the  eastern  extremity  of  Long  Island :  the  main  street 
lying  in  a  little  miniature  valley,  the  rise  on  either  side  being 

I 


10  SKA-SPKAY. 

so  slight  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible.  There  was  nothing 
picturesque  in  the  surrounding  scenery :  the  fields  lay  in 
one  flat,  unbroken  level,  and  there  was  neither  a  brook  nor 
a  rock  within  an  hour's  travel  of  the  street ;  but  the  dash 
of  the  eternal  wave  was  always  sounding  amid  its  solitudes, 
and  the  solemn  and  monotonous  roar  had,  perchance,  had 
its  influence  in  subduing  and  sobering  the  spirits  of  the  in- 
habitants, and  imparting  to  their  characters  that  quiet,  un- 
impulsive  sluggishness,  for  which,  more  than  anything  else, 
they  were  distinguished. 

Stretched  far  away  into  the  ocean,  shut  out  by  their  iso- 
lated position  from  any  entangling  or  exciting  relations  with 
the  busy,  bustling  \vorld  around  them,  the  villagers  pursued 
quietly  and  contentedly  their  own  usual  avocations,  and 
dreamed  away  a  harmless  and  noiseless  existence ;  dwel- 
ling soberly  where  their  fathers  had  dwelt,  treading  patiently 
the  paths  their  fathers'  steps  had  beaten,  tilling  the  same 
fields,  sheltered  by  the  same  roofs,  believing  in  the  same 
stern  creed,  worshiping  in  the  same  gray  old  temple,  and 
finally  lying  down  in  death  almost  in  the  same  green  graves. 
Still  there  was  a  beauty  and  a  charm  in  their  unobtrusive 
simplicity,  in  their  perfect  innocence  of  all  new-fangled  im- 
provements, in  their  pertinacious  faith  in  windmill-",  and  de- 
vout abhorrence  of  steam  and  all  its  noisy  abominations. 

There  was  fear  now,  however,  that  the  spirit  of  innova- 
tion had  begun  to  creep  stealthily  among  them  ;  the  "brush- 
ing up"  mania  had  broken  out  here  and  there,  and  in  seve- 
ral places  along  the  street  snug  little  edifices  might  be  seen, 
in  all  the  gloss  and  glory  of  fresh  paint  and  side-lights, 
staring  pertly  at  their  grim  gray  old  neighbors  across  the 
way,  and  turning  up  their  puggish  little  portico  noses  in 
defiant  scorn  of  the  long,  low,  rickety  roofs  that  confronted 


SEA-SPRAY.  11 

them  ;  barns  had  marched  sullenly  back  from  the  front  line, 
and  wood-piles  had  retired  indignantly  to  the  rear,  to  give 
place  to  painted  pickets  and  ornamental  shrubbery. 

Steamboats,  railroads  and  turnpikes  had  brought  the 
world  nearer,  and  the  restless,  itinerating  tendency  of  the 
times  had  brought  troops  of  seekers  after  change  to  explore 
all  the  sweet  secluded  nooks  and  shady  retreats  of  Sea- 
spray,  and  to  claim  and  take  possession  by  right  of  dis- 
covery. But  those  who  came  to  rusticate  and  rest — to 
breathe  the  pure  sea  air — to  forget  the  stifling  city  heats  in 
the  blessed  ocean  breeze,  and  bathe  the  fevered  brow  and 
the  languid  limb  in  the  dashing  ocean  wave,  had  fled  with 
the  flowers  and  the  singing  summer  birds;  and  the  deserted 
haunts  of  the  summer  loungers  were  silent  now,  save  when 
the  fallen  leaves  rustled  along  the  paths,  or  the  wintry  wind 
moaned  through  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees.  It  was 
evening,  calm  and  serene,  and  no  sound  disturbed  the 
silence,  except  the  sharp  stroke  of  an  axe  in  the  distance, 
busy  in  trfrifty  forecast  for  to-morrow's  fuel,  or  the  slow 
groaning  wheel  of  a  loaded  wagon,  late  on  its  homeward 
way. 

"  This  is  a  lovely  evening,"  said  Leena  Hesselten,  as  she 
drew  her  chair  to  the  fireside,  and  laid  down  her  book  ; 
"  but  I  can  see  to  read  no  longer,  so  I  shall  just  lounge  here 
awhile  in  idleness,  and  enjoy  the  twilight." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Alice,  "what  has  become  of  all  our 
neighbors?  J  should  think  this  bright  pleasant  weather 
would  tempt  some  of  them  out." 

The  outer  door  turned  softly  on  its  hinges,  and  a  light, 
cautious  step  was  heard  in  the  passage. 

"  That's  Milly,  I  know  by  the  step,"  said  Leena,  turning 
toward  the  door  opening  upon  the  front  entrance  of  the 
house,  as  a  light,  graceful  figure  glided  into  the  room. 


12  SEA-SPRAY. 

"Are  you  alone?"  asked  the  visitor,  in  a  low,  timid 
voice,  as  the  sister?  turned  to  greet  her. 

"We  are,"  said  Alice,  "  and  just  wishing  for  company  to 
help  us  enjoy  this  quiet  hour.  How  very  mild  and  pleasant 
it  is!" 

"  Isn't  it  ?"  replied  the  visitor,  in  her  peculiar  phraseo- 
logy, a  sort  of  confirmative  interrogatory.  "  Isn't  it  ?  It 
don't  do  as  if  it  could  be  winter,  does  it?" 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Leena,  laughingly,  "I  suppose  this 
is  winter  ;  but  we  must  give  the  old  gentleman  credit — he 
has  walked  in  very  peaceably,  and  behaved  himself  thus 
far  very  becomingly.  I  am  suspicious,  with  all  his  blarney, 
that  he  will  be  at  his  old  tricks  before  spring." 

"  I  don't  like  such  unseasonable  weather,  though,"  said 
Milly  ;  "  it  seems  unnatural,  and  makes  me  feel  gloomy. 
There  is  something  spring-like  in  it ;  and  I  always  feel  sad 
and  lonesome-like  when  the  days  begin  to  lengthen  and 
soften  in  the  spring.  I  have  heard  you  remark,  Leena,  that 
you  experienced  the  same  feeling." 

"  I  do,"  answered  Leeiia.  "  If  I  ever  knew  anything 
like  melancholy,  it  is  in  the  advancing  spring,  when  the 
first  early  birds  come,  and  the  frogs  begin  to  peep  on  the 
marshes.  I  don't  know  by  what  association  the  feeling  is 
awakened,  but  my  thoughts  turn  back  to  my  happy  school 
days  and  their  companions,  and  I  feel  sad  and  solitary.  In 
the  fall,  on  the  contrary,  which  others  consider  the  season 
of  gloom,  I  enjoy  life  best ;  there  is  more  zest  in  our  snug 
quiet  home  comforts,  when  we  draw  around  a  blazing  fire, 
shut  the  door  upon  outside  troubles,  and  draw  our  enjoy- 
ments from  home  a^id  its  pleasant  resources." 

"Well,  Leen,  you've  made  quite  a  speech  before  this 
meeting,"  said  Alice,  "  and  now,  shall  I  tell  Dury  to  bring 
in  the  lights?" 


SEA-SPEAY.  13 

"Weather-breeder,  Miss  Milly,"  said  Dury,  with  a 
solemn  shake  of  the  head,  as  she  deposited  the  lamps  on  the 
table. 

"Do  you  think  so,  Dury?"  said  Milly. 

"Never  knowd  it  to  fail," said  Dury,  laconically,  as  she 
moved  solemnly  out  of  the  room. 

"  Dury  sees  awful  portents  in  everything  pleasant,  and 
if  she  could,  would  croak  the  sunshine  off  the  earth,"  said 
Alice,  unrolling  her  knitting-work.  "  She  has  firm  faith  in 
weather  breeders,  as  she  calls  them,  and  I  should  be  sorry 
to  quarrel  with  poor  Dury's  philosophy,  for  I  am  not  sure 
that  faith  in  omens  is  not  pleasanter  than  no  faith  at  all ;  at 
any  rate,  she  brooks  no  slight  upon  her  sayings  or  doings  ?" 

Conversation  went  gaily  on  for  some  time  :  the  weather, 
the  markets,  the  fashions,  the  little  matters  of  local  and 
neighborhood  interest ;  sometimes  wandering  away  upon 
solemn  and  serious  subjects,  with  sad  and  tearful  reminis- 
cences of  past  years  and  buried  friends ;  then  turning 
cheerfully  back  to  lighter  themes,  to  plans  for  the  future  of 
business  or  pleasure,  to  anticipated  visits  from,  and  pleasant 
reunions  with,  distant  and  dear  friends,  mingled  with  droll 
jokes  and  characteristic  snatches  of  humor,  amusing,  if 
only  for  their  grotesque  absurdity. 

After  an  hour  or  two  spent  in  pleasant  chat,  the  visitor 
began  to  make  manifestations  of  her  intent  to  leave.  Her 
stay  being  too  short  to  be  called  a  visit,  and  too  uncere- 
monious to  be  dignified  with  the  appellation  of  a  call,  was, 
what  in  Sea-spray  parlance  was  designated  a  "  run  in-  be- 
tween lights ;"  one  of  these  cosy,  snug  little  gossiping  in- 
terviews, so  peculiarly  pleasant  in  a  social  and  friendly 
community  of  lifetime  acquaintanceship.  So,  in  spite  of 
earnest  entreaties  to  "  stay  a  little  longer,"  Millicent  Hen- 


14  SEA-SPRAY. 

shaw  rose,  saying  she  had  been  too  long  idle,  and  must  go 
home  to  her  sewing. 

As  she  opened  the  outer  door,  an  angry  gust  swept  past 
her,  and  told  of  a  sudden  and  total  change  of  weather. 
Stopping,  with  her  hand  on  the  lock,  she  called  to  her 
friends  by  the  fireside — 

"  Well  now,  you  shall  come  to  the  door  and  look  out.  I 
guess  there's  no  mistake  this  time.  Dury's  right — you 
never  saw  such  a  change  ;  the  sky  is  all  overcast,  and  the 
wind  blowing  almost  a  gale  from  the  southeast.  It  is  dark 
and  squally,  and  I  guess  the  storm  will  come  down  heavy 
enough  before  morning." 

"  Is  it  very  dark,  Milly  ?"  asked  Alice,  from  her  seat  by 
the  fire. 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  was;  aint  it  though?"  said 
Milly,  as  she  closed  the  door. 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  storm  before  morning,  papa  ?" 
asked  Alice  of  her  father,  Col.  Hesselten,  who  came  in  from 
his  business  at  the  close  of  the  evening. 

"  There  are  strong  indications  of  it  now,"  replied  the 
Colonel.  "  The  wind  is  piping  up  spitefully  in  the  south- 
east, and  the  clouds  are  heaving  up  black  and  heavy :  it 
has  come  up  very  suddenly,  and,  I  think,  will  do  up  its 
work  quickly.  Well,"  said  he,  glancing  round  the  comfort- 
able appointments  of  his  well-ordered  and  pleasant  home, 
"  we  shan't  feel  it  much  ;  we  have  enough  of  everything 
at  hand,  to  keep  cold  and  hunger  from  our  hearth  for  a  day 
or  two,  at  any  rate,  and  no  reason  to  fear  that  a  storm,  if 
it  comes,  can  materially  inconvenience  us  or  ours." 
;  An  answering  blast  swept  against  the  window  as  if  in 
mocking  reply,  bringing  with  it  a  crashing  torrent  of  rain. 
Then  there  was  a  lull,  a  fearful  pause,  while  the  angry  ele- 


SEA-SPttAY.  15 

ments   gathered  strength  for  a  wilder  rush,  and  again  it 
came  down  with  startling  and  terrible  violence. 

"  This  is  a  wild  night  for  vessels  on  the  coast,"  said  Col. 
Hesselten,  pacing  the  room  uneasily.  He  turned  to  .the 
window  and  peered  into  the  darkness ;  then  resumed  his 
walk,  with  his  hands  crossed  behind  him,  whistling  softly  a 
slow,  solemn  measure,  and  timing  his  steps  in  unison. .  '• 

The  evening  had  worn  away :  nine,  ten,  eleven  o'clock 
had  chimed  out,  but  the  storm  had  abated  nothing  of  its 
fury.  The  lights  had  disappeared  from  the  dwellings 
along  the  street,  and  darkness,  deep  and  dreary,  wrapped 
the  little  village. 

The  storm  continued  to  beat  with  unabated  fury  upon 
the  windows,  and  howl  around  the  house  ;  but  the  inmate's 
slept  unharmed,  till  the  old  town  clock  had  told  off  the 
hours  far  into  the  morning  watches,  when  a  louder  and 
startling  sound  boomed  out  above  'the  blast — another — 
another — and  another. 

" Hark,  Leena  !  did  you  hear  those  guns?"  said  Alice, 
springing  out  of  bed  ;  "  there  must  be  some  vessel  on 
shore — they  were  signals  of  distress.  God  help  them,  or 
in  such  a  storm  as  this  they  must  perish."  Again  and 
again  came  that  useless  appeal,  that  unavailing  cry  for 
help,  where  human  hands  were  powerless  to  save,  and 
human  efforts  would  be  put  forth  in  vain. 

"  Let  us  make  our  fire  and  dress  ourselves,"  said  Alice ; 
"  it  will  soon  be  light,  and  we  shall  sleep  no  more.  There 
it  goes  again!  Oh,  this  is  dreadful ;  will  it  ever  be  light?" 
said  she,  in  impatient  agitation.  "  Sit  down,  and  compose 
yourself,"  said  Leena,  quietly  lacing  her  gaiters  ;  "it  is  use- 
less to  distress  yourself  about  a  thing  utterly  beyond  your 
power  to  remedy.  If  it  is  possible  to  render  them  any 


16  r  SEA-SPRAY. 

assistance,  you  may  be  sure  it  will  be  promptly  done.  I 
am  certain  no  aid  can  reach  them  now." 

"  Guess  Miss  Leena  and  Miss  Alice  gin  to  think  old 
squaw  knows  sun-thin  now,"  said  Dury,  with  a  little  exul- 
tation in  her  tone,  as  she  came  in  with  some  wood  for  their 
fire.  "  Aint  knowd  sich  a  storm  as  this  in  iver  so  long." 

"  Yes,  Dury,"  said  Leena,  "  I  am  beat  this  time." 

"  I  knowd  'twould  come" — and  Dury  withdrew  to  build 
her  own  fire  in  the  kitchen. 

The  day,  now  dark  and  dismal,  began  to  dawn  ;  but 
it  was  day  at  last,  and  objects  out  of  doors  began  to 
be  dimly  visible.  Then  came  the  tramp  of  hurrying 
feet,  the  roll  of  wheels,^the  rapid  rush  of  horsemen ;  and 
the  bell  sent  fortji  its  unwonted  peal  from  the  old 
church  tower  amid  that  howing  blast.  Shout  answered 
shout;  doors  opened,  and  heads  looked  out  from  upper 
windows ;  while  in  all  directions  was  heard  the  eager 
question,  and  the  hasty,  brief  reply.  The  horn  for  the 
surf-boats  bellowed  its  trumpet-like  call,  and  answering  to 
its  summons,  the  sturdy  and  strong-limbed  men  who  com- 
posed their  crews  began  to  muster. 

In  a  short  space  of  time  the  intelligence  had  reached 
every  dwelling  in  the  village,  and  spread  among  the  little 
hamlets  in  the  vicinity,  that  a  stately  ship  was  stranded, 
and  lay  helplessly  weltering  amid  the  breakers,  directly 
opposite  the  street. 

Of  course  every  body  was  astir :  curiosity,  cupidity, 
duty  or  sympathy  called  them  forth,  to  see,  to  gain,  to  act, 
and  to  relieve. 

Fearless  of  the  storm,  school-boys  flung  aside  their 
books,  and  heedless  of  the  tinkling  of  the  little  cracked 
bell,  that  groaned  and  creaked  in  its  spasmodic  efforts  to 


SEA-SPRAY.  17 

ring,  rushed  eagerly  to  the  beach.  Grave,  home-keeping 
men  shoved  back  the  scarcely  tasted  breakfast,  laid  down 
the  last  mail's  unread  newspaper,  and  with  storm-coat  and 
comforter  carefully  adjusted,  ventured  out  among  the 
bustle,  to  do  all  they  could  in  the  way  of  suggestion,  or 
calm  and  prudent  advice.  Little,  indeed,  could  be  done 
beyond  looking  on ;  for  the  rashest  madness  would  never 
have  prompted  the  launching  a  boat  in  those  wild,  rolling 
billows.  With  the  ready  forethought,  however,  of  men 
accustomed  to  such  scenes,  the  inhabitants  of  Sea-spiay 
went  quietly  and  promptly  to  make  arrangements  for 
availing  themselves  of  the  earliest  possible  chance  for  com- 
municating with  those  on  board  the  ill-fated  vessel,  and 
relieving  them,  if  possible,  from  their  perilous  position. 

Whale  boats  were  drawn  down  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
carefully  scrutinized,  that  no  possible  mishap  might  occur 
from  neglect  or  unseen  flaw ;  oars  were  brought  out  and 
examined,  and  ropes  uncoiled  and  stretched,  ready  for 
emergencies.  In  the  meantime,  day  had  advanced ;  and, 
almost  unheeded  by  the  earnest  workers  on  the  beach,  ab- 
sorbed and  excited  by  their  important  preparations,  the 
wind  had  hauled  a  little  more  to  the  south,  and  abated 
somewhat  of  its  violence. 

Not  long  did  so  favorable  a  circumstance  escape  the 
notice  of  the  anxious  waiters  on  the  beach  ;  and  many 
eager  voices  at  once  gave  utterance  to  the  hope  that  the 
storm  would  ere  long  give  way. 

"  I  think,"  said  Captain  Hull,  a  stout  built,  muscular 
seaman,  bronzed  and  seasoned  to  all  sorts  of  rough  weather, 
by  many  years'  service  in  command  of  a  whaler — "I  think 
the  weather  is  working  southerly,  and  will  soon  come 
round  to  the  fair  weather  point." 

1* 


18  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Captain  Melton,  to  whom  the  remark 
was  addressed ;  "but  these  short  southeaster  are  apt  to 
chop  suddenly  round  to  the  northwest,  and  come  out  with 
a  furious  blow  from  that  quarter." 

"Wall,  that  may  be,  tew,"  said  a  weather-beaten  old 
fisherman  from  the  north  shore ;  "  but  I  kinder  recken,  eff 
it  don't  blow  tew  obstropolous,  that  are'll  be  the  sort  to 
knock  down  the  surf." 

"  Very  true,"  said  a  small,  energetic,  well-knit,  but  light- 
limbed  young  man,  with  a  speaking  trumpet  in  his  hand ; 
"  but  we  can't  wait  for  the  northwest  wind  to  help  us. 
I  am  bound  to  reach  that  vessel  as  soon  as  it  is  possible  Tor 
a  boat  to  live  in  the  surf,  if  I  can  get  a  crew  for  love  or 
money  to  join  me." 

"  I  don't  weigh  my'life  in  the  balance  against  money, 
Captain  Hardy,"  quietly  replied  Melton,  "  but  I  will  take 
an  oar  in  the  first  boat  that  wets  her  bows  in  that  at- 
tempt." 

"  I  didn't  doubt  your  skill  or  your  courage,"  answered 
Hardy,  pleasantly,  "nor  your  generous  readiness  to 
exercise  them  in  such  a  case  as  this ;  but  you  know  I  feel 
impatient,  because  you  know,"  added  he,  a  little  proudly, 
"  what  is  a  volunteered  service  on  your  part,  which  you 
can  tender  or  not,  as  you  choose,  is  a  sworn  duty  with  me, 
which,  at  any  risk,  I  must  and  will  perform." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  Melton,  "  I  fully  understand  all 
that ;  and  I  repeat  that,  without  intending  to  give  my 
countenance  to  any  rash  trifling  with  life,  I  am  ready 
when  you  are." 

"  Don't  you  think,  Captain,  you  can  make  yourself 
heard  now  ?  The  storm  has  worn  itself  out  almost,  and  I 
should  think  your  voice  would  reach  them,"  said  Captain 


SKA-SPRAT.  19 

Hull,  rising  from  his  lounging  attitude  on  the  beach,  and 
shaking  off  the  wet  sand  that  clung  to  his  garments. 

"  I  will  try,"  replied  the  person  appealed  to  ;  and  raising 
the  trumpet  to  his  lips,  he  put  the  question — 

"  What  cheer  on  board  ?" 

The  deep  tones  rose  clear  and  loud  on  tlie  beach,  and 
eager  listeners  held  their  breath  for  the  response — but  no 
answer  came.  No  voice  of  man  could  make  its  accents 
intelligible  above  the  deafening  thunders  of  that  leaping  and 
terrible  flood. 

"  Can  you  make  out  anything  of  her  character  ?"  asked 
a  gentleman,  who,  from  his  dress  and  air,  was  easily  identi- 
fied as  the  clergyman  of  the  parish. 

"  Not  much,  sir,"  replied  Hardy,  who  had  been  for 
some  time  scanning  the  strange  visitor  through  his  glass. 
"  She  rolls  so,  and  is  so  enveloped  in  mist  and  spray,  that 
little  can  be  seen.  I  think  there  are  many  people  on 
board,  and  I  judge  from  the  manoeuvres  that  they  are 
anxious  to  open  some  communication  with  the  shore," 

"  Do  you  think  it  can  be  done  ?"  asked  the  clergyman, 
anxiously. 

"  It  can't  be  done,  Mr.  Alden,"  said  Hardy,  decidedly. 

"  Do  you  think  they  are  in  imminent  danger  where  they 
are  ?"  pursued  Mr.  Alden. 

"  Well,"  said  Hardy,  musingly,  as  if  not  prepared  or 
willing  to  risk  an  opinion,  "  that  depends  upon  the  strength 
of  her  build.  That  sea  would  try  any  timbers.  They  are 
safe  enough  if  they  can  have  patience  to  wait ;  and  she 
can  hold  together  under  the  strain.  Of  that  they  can 
judge  best.  Anyhow,  their  only  helper  now  is  God.  Mor- 
tal man  is  powerless  here,"  said  the  kind-hearted  wreck- 
master,  solemnly,  as  he  reverentially  uncovered  his  head. 


20  SEA-SPRAY. 

The  clergyman  sighed,  as  he  turned  to  look  with  tearful 
eyes  upon  the  object  of  so  much  anxious  and  earnest 
interest.  "  They  must  be  very  uncomfortable,"  he  resumed, 
turning  again  to  speak  to  Hardy. 

"  Doubtless  they  are,"  replied  his  auditor,  thoughtfully, 
looking  wistfully  along  the  beach  as  he  spoke.  "  Here  are 
men  enough  to  man  more  boats  than  we  can  muster,  all 
strong  at  hand  and  full  of  strength,  waiting,  and  willing  to 
do  and  to  dare  all  that  men  can  do ;  but  what's  the  use.  I 
say,  Melton,"  sa'id  he,  with  a  little  spice  of  impatience  in 
his  tone,  calling  to  his  cool,  quiet  neighbour,  "this  is 
blamed  trying  to  a  man's  feelings,  to  stand  idly  looking  on, 
while  his  fellow-creatures  perish  almost  within  reach  of  his 
hand.  Can  we  do  anything  ?" 

"  We  can  wait,"  said  Melton,  calmly — too  calmly,  it  would 
seem,  for  his  fiery  and  ardent  interrogator,  who  turned 
quickly  away,  and  joined  a  group  ranged  around  a  boat,  as 
if  impatient  to  launch  and  make  an  attempt  to  reach  the 
wreck. 

"  She  seems,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  a  staunch  craft,  and  I 
think  they  will  be  wise  enough  to  keep  still,"  said  an  ex- 
perienced and  sensible  man  from  the  street,  who  had  been 
all  his  life  accustomed  to  "  long  shore"  fishing,  and  as  much 
at  home  in  a  whale-boat  as  in  his  bed,  and  could  breast 
the  billows  like  a  duck.  "  But  I  should  not  wonder  if  you 
see  some  of  them  trying  their  strength  with  the  breakers 
before  long.  Men  can't  stand  still  a  great  while,  very 
patiently,  with  death  dashing  over  them,  and  solid  land  so 
near." 

"  I  think,  Hardy,"  said  Hull,  with  a  stretch  and  yawn, 
"  this  waiting  here  is  dull  work  ;  and,  as  I  know  there  will  be 
no  going  off  till  the  tide  is  down,  and  the  weather  a  little 
more  settled,  I  will  go  up  to  my  dinner." 


SEA-SPRAY.  21 

"Go,  then,"  said  Hardy,  "and  swallow  it  quick,  if  you 
mean  to  see  the  first  landing  made  from  that  ship.  I  have 
lounged  here  doing  nothing  long  enough,  and  I  think 
you  know  me  well  enough  to  know  that  I  am  no  slow 
boat." 

"  I  know  very  well,"  said  Hull,  good  naturedly,  "  that 
you  are  always  ready  to  act  before  others  have  begun  to 
think  ;  but  I  don't  believe  you  will  be  fool-hardy  enough  to 
risk  your  life  in  this  surf  before  I  get  back :  and  I  shall  eat 
my  dinner  without  choking  or  scalding  myself.  Can  I 
bring  you  anything  ?  Shall  1  carry  any  message  to  your 
folks  at  home  ?" 

"  Well  thought  of,  Hull.  Yes — tell  them  to  send  down 
somebody  with  everything  they  can  muster  to  eat,  and  a 
kettle  of  coffee.  Your  talk  about  dinner  reminds  me  that 
I  came  off  without  any  breakfast.  By  the  way,  Hull, 
can't  you  ask  some  of  these  men,  from  Snarlville,  home 
with  you  to  dinner  ?  They  can't  go  home,  you  know ;  and 
the  work  we  have  before  us  is  not  one  to  be  done  on  an 
empty  stomach." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Hull,  laughing,  "  I  will  feed  all  I  can, 
and  billet  the  rest  upon  the  neighbors." 

So  saying,  he  walked  quickly  away,  and  soon  disap- 
peared behind  the  banks  which  separated  the  sandy  beach 
from  the  marshes,  and  loamy,  arable  lands  beyond. 

One  by  one  the  lookers-on  departed,  to  dine  and  warm 
themselves  in  happy  homes,  and  by  glowing  hearth-stones  ; 
and  few  remained  on  the  beach,  except  those  whom  duty  or 
interest  detained. 

Yes — interest  even  here !  for,  though  the  noblest  efforts 
of  human  strength  were  cheerfully  put  forth  on  occasions 
like  this;  though  the  most  chivalrous  forgetfulness  of  self 


22  SEA.-SPRAY. 

and  selfish  inducements,  and  the  boldest  and  bravest  endu- 
rance of  fatigue,  and  danger,  and  toil,  without  thought  of 
remuneration,  or  expectation  of  profit  and  reward,  were 
things  of  common  occurrence  ;  and  though  not  a  man  in  all 
that  motley  assemblage  would  have  shrunk  back  from  any 
exertion,  or  expenditure  of  time  or  strength  to  rescue  their 
fellow -creatures  from  situations  of  peril ;  still,  the  excite- 
ment over,  they  would  work  as  untiringly  and  as  faithfully 
for  pay.  And  why  not  ?  If  they  had  frames  of  iron  and 
sinews  of  steel,  why  should  they  encounter  wind  and 
wave,  cold,  hunger  and  toil,  and  privation  of  rest,  to  save 
wealth  for  the  wealthy,  and  to  snatch  from  the  merciless 
waters  treasures  with  which  they  could  never  be  en- 
riched. 

So  they  waited  and  watched,  and  bided  their  time ;  not 
for  plunder — God  forbid  such  a  thought,  for  the  sturdy  far- 
mers of  Sea-spray  were  honest,  yes,  honest,  noble-hearted 
men,  and  untold  wealth  might  have  been  strewn  on  their 
shore,  and  they  would  have  guarded  it  as  their  own,  and 
rendered  an  account  of  their  stewardship,  even  to  the  ut- 
termost farthing.  This  of  the  community  as  a  com- 
munity. 

There  are  frail  and  fallen  sons  of  humanity  everywhere. 
There  are  those  who  have  felt  the  principles  of  honesty, 
which  they  would  gladly  have  cherished,  withering  before 
the  pinching  pressure  of  poverty.  There  are  those  who 
have  gone  down  in  the  indulgence  of  vicious  propensities, 
till  they  have  fallen  below  the  reach  of  all  promptings  of 
their  better  natures  •,  and  there  are  some,  perhaps,  of  that 
unfortunate  moral  malformation,  who  do  evil  by  instinct, 
and  who  have  never  been  under  the  guidance  of  any  re- 
straining or  elevating  principle. 


SEA- SPRAY.  23 

There  is,  in  truth,  no  spot  on  all  this  bright  and  beautiful 
earth,  however  secluded  and  sheltered  it  may  seem,  over 
which  the  "  trail  of  the  serpent "  has  not  swept,  with  the 
blighting  and  blackening  touch  of  sin ;  and,  alas  for  sweet 
Sea-spray,  it  was  not  so  far  out  of  the  way,  that  sin  had  not 
found  out  the  road,  and  led  sorrow  along  with  her. 

So  they  watched  and  waited,  the  trusty  and  the  true : — 
there  was  need  of  it. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  ALLY,"  said  Leena,  "  the  rain  is  over,  and  the  wind  has 
fallen  ;  it  is  decidedly  better  weather,  and  I  am  going  to  the 
beach,  for  I  can't  rest  at  home." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  exactly  prudent  for  us  to  go  out 
in  such  a  raw,  damp  day  as  this  ?"  inquired  Alice. 

"  I  shall  risk  the  peril  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure,"  re- 
sponded Leena ;  "  and  I  wish  to  know,  before  I  go,  what  is 
the  state  of  our  larder,  for  we  shall  very  likely  have  some 
of  these  people  thrown  upon  our  hospitality.  Allen  says 
lie  thinks  there  are  passengers,  probably  quite  a  number, 
and  they  will  need  care  and  kindness,  if  they  ever  reach 
the  land  to  receive  it.  So  let's  call  in  Dury,  and  hold  a 
caucus." 

"  Wha's  Miss  Ally  want  ?"  said  Dury,  opening  the  door, 
and  suffering  nothing  to  enter  but  her  head,  which  was  en- 
veloped in  a  quilted  flannel  hood ;  "  cause  I'm  roasting 
coffee,  and  I  can't  come." 

"  Well,  then  we  will  come  out  there,  for  we  want  to  con- 
sult you  a  little.  You  see,  Dury,"  said  Alice,  sitting  down 
on  a  basket  of  chips  in  the  kitchen  corner,  and  preparing 
herself  to  quiet  (by  a  little  skilful  diplomacy)  anticipated 
disaffection  in  the  kitchen  cabinet,  "  we  are  going  to  the 
Beach." 


SEA-SPRAY.  25 

Dury  looked  disapprobation,  but  she  stirred  her  coffee 
energetically,  and  listened. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  Beach,  and  I  wish  to  ask  your  ad- 
vice as  to  what  we  had  better  do  in  case  we  bring  any  com- 
pany home  with  us — as  we  intend  to  do  if  we  choose," 
continued  she,  firmly,  in  reply  to  sundry  twitches  and  jerks 
strongly  indicative  of  a  desire  to  rebel.  "  Now,  what  have 
you  got  in  the  pantry  ?" 

"  Little  enough,  the  mercy  knows,"  groaned  Dury.  "  I 
don'  see  what  Miss  Ally  wants  to  bring  in'body  here  for, 
you  know  iv  think's  scace  and  dreffle  dear." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Dury  ;  but  then  you  know,  too,  when 
the  Lord  sends  mouths  he  sends  meat." 

"I'd  rother  he'd  send  butter,"  said  Dury,  doggedly — 
"  we've  got  meat  enough." 

"  Well,  well ;  never  mind  the  butter,  Dury,  no  doubt  it 
will  come.  Money,  you  know,  opens  cellar  doors." 

"  Come !  yes,  it  '11  come,  1  suppose,  for  two  shillings  a 
pound ;  but  where  it's  goneter  come  from  at  that,  's  moren 
I  know.  If  Miss  Ally  knows,  mebby  she'll  tell." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Alice,  laughing ;  "  but  you  know, 
Dury,  where  there  is  not  knowledge  there  must  be  trust." 

"  Trust,  su'  enough  !  That's  great !  I  won'er  if  Miss 
Ally  don't  know  't  they  allus  charge  more  when  we  gits 
little  notions  on  trust  ?" 

"  I  did  not  mean  credit  at  the  stores,  Dury ;  I  meant 
trust  in  Providence,"  said  Alice,  subduing  her  inclination 
to  laugh,  for  she  felt  that  they  were  trenching  on  sacred 
things. 

"  Guh !  that's  what  you  mean,  uh  ?  I  'spect  to  trust  in 
Providence  in  sickness  and  trouble,  and  sich  times.  I  niver 
knowd  how't  I  could  trouble  Providence  for  a  pound  a'  but- 
ter." 


26  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  It  is  a  small  matter  indeed,  Dury,  to  trouble  even  our- 
selves about;  but  it  is  well  for  you  and  me,  that  nothing  He 
has  made  is  too  small  to  meet  his  notice,  or  be  protected  by 
his  care." 

"  Well,  I  niver  meant  nothin',  Miss  Ally ;  go  'long  to 
the  Beach  if  you  wants  ter.  I  guess  old  squaw  '11  find 
suthink  to  eat  for  all  as  comes.  Bundle  up  well,  and  don't 
stay  too  long  and  scatch  yer  death." 

Dury  toddled  off  to  grind  her  coffee,  and  Leena  and 
Alice,  well  cloaked  and  wrapped  and  hooded,  walked  briskly 
toward  the  Beach. 

Nothing  had  been  done  when  they  arrived.  The  shore 
was  again  thronged  with  anxious  spectators.  The  swell 
had  subsided,  so  as  to  allow  a  better  view  of  the  ship,  and 
of  the  proceedings  on  her  deck.  It  was  evident  that  great 
excitement  and  alarm  prevailed  on  board,  and  that  some 
difference  of  opinion  with  regard  to  the  feasibility  of  effect- 
ing a  landing  existed  among  the  officers  and  passengers. 

"  1  think,"  said  Lester  Bennet,  the  kind-hearted  and  fa- 
therly old  fisherman,  fixing  his  keen,  twinkling  little  black 
eyes  long  and  searchingly  on  the  vessel,  now  lying  a  little 
more  quietly  as  the  heaving  waves  abated — "  I  think  I  see 
wimmin  kind  yender.  That  are  flutterin'  can't  mean  no- 
thin'  but  female  furbelows.  It's  a  coarse  beach  she's  made 
for  sich  tender  critturs.  It's  my  mind  it'll  be  a  mercy  eff 
they  iver  tread  God's  arth." 

The  old  man  shaded  his  eyes,  while  the  prayer  of  a  gentle 
and  affectionate  heart  went  silently  up  for  the  helpless  and 
suffering  strangers,  thus  standing  in  their  dread  necessity 
before  him. 

"  They  are  making  preparations  to  send  a  man  off,"  said 
Hardy.  "  I  think  it  will  be  a  life  uselessly  thrown  away. 
I  will  hail  again.  Possibly  I  may  reach  them  now." 


SEA-SPRAY.  27 

Again  the  question  was  put :  "  What's  your  situation  ?" 

Then  came  the  thrilling  reply  :  "  Desperate !  For  God's 
sake,  help  us,  if  you  can !" 

"  Speak  them  again,  Hardy.  Urge  them  to  keep  quiet. 
We  can  save  them,  if  they  will  have  patience." 

"  The  tide  is  falling,  and  I,  for  one,  am  willing  to  ven- 
ture," said  Captain  Hull. 

Again  sounded  the  trumpet :  '•'  Keep  cool.  We  are 
coming  off.  Can  you  keep  back  your  men  ?" 

"  Save  our  women  and  children  ;  our  men  must  take 
care  of  themselves,"  was  the  prompt  and  proud  reply. 

"  That  are's  the  right  sperit.  That's  the  chap  for  me. 
That  feller's  got  the  true  stuff  in  him — blamed  eff  he  aint," 
said  Lester,  throwing  up  his  head,  by  way  of  testifying  his 
hearty  approval. 

The  boat  was  now  silently  made  ready,  and  one  by  one 
these  brave,  devoted  men  stepped  out  to  guide  her.  There 
was  no  levity  now.  It  was  no  time  for  jest  or  merriment ; 
but  there  was  firm,  unfaltering  fixedness  of  will,  cool,  calm 
courage,  in  that  solemn  hour.  And  was  there  not  need  of 
it  ?  Amid  that  breathless  crowd  were  gentle,  loving 
womenf looking  on,  with  pallid  brows,  and  hearts  that  al- 
most ceased  to  beat ;  there  were  caressed  and  petted  chil- 
dren, with  pale  parted  lips,  and  earnest  anxious  eyes  ; — 
kindred,  neighbors,  and  friends,  watching  to  see  husbands, 
fathers,  brothers,  put  forth  into  that  waste  of  boiling, 
bellowing  waves. 

"  Hull,"  said  Hardy,  "  we  shall  put  you  in  the  bows." 

Hull  hesitated.  "  Well,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  as  well 
me  as  anybody.  Perhaps  Melton  has  a  cooler  head." 

"  Neither  a  cooler  head,  a  stouter  heart,  nor  a  steadier 
hand,"  said  Melton,  calmly.  "  I  will  go  where  the  others 
think  best." 


28  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  Take  the  leading  oar,  then,"  said  Hull.  "  Now,  where's 
Bill  Melton  ?  He  pulls  an  oar  with  a  skilful  hand." 

"  Here,  close  at  your  elbow,  and  ready  for  work. 
Where  else  should  he  be  ?"  replied  the  young  Captain  called 
for. 

"  And  Shumway  ?" 

"  All  ready,  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,"  was  the  cheerful 
response. 

"  Now  for  the  ropes.  This  is  no  summer  sport  you  are 
fixing  for,"  said  an  anxious  neighbor  of  the  gallant  young 
men  engaged  in  the  perilous  enterprise  ;  and  careful  hands 
fastened  the  long  and  strong  ropes  around  their  waists, 
ready  to  be  hauled  upon  in  case  of  disaster. 

"  Are  we  all  ready  ?"  asked  Hull. 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please,"  said  Melton,  calmly,  but 
solemnly.  "We  know  that  we  are  going  forth  with  our 
lives  in  our  hands.  Knowing  this,  I  trust  we  all  go  will- 
ingly. Friends  and  neighbors,  let  us  be  sure  that  we  are 
going  with  no  motives  in  our  hearts,  which  we  should 
fear  to  take  in  our  right  hands  before  the  bar  of  God." 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  looked  towards  the  clergyman.  In 
a  moment  every  head  was  bowed,  and  the  pastor  ftfted  his 
hands  in  prayer.  It  was  a  scene  beautiful  in  its  terrific 
sublimity. 

That  mighty  vessel,  with  its  gigantic  hull  and  towering 
masts,  looming  up  against  that  sombre  back-ground  ;  that 
black,  leaden  sky  ;  that  seemingly  limitless  expanse  of  roll- 
ing waters,  roaring,  and  plunging,  and  foaming  in  their 
tempestuous  wrath ;  that  pale  and  silent  multitude,  with 
bowed,  uncovered  heads,  while  the  voice  of  prayer  went 
up,  flowing  in  earnest  and  ardent  tones  from  a  heart  stirred 
to  its  inmost  depths,  and  sending  its  pleading  and  powerful 


SEA-SPRAY.  29 

cry  for  mercy  and  deliverance  in  gushing  and  unstudied 
eloquence  over  those  pale  and  quivering  lips. 

The  boat  was  shoved  into  the  water,  ready  hands  help- 
ing to  drag  her  off  and  steady  her  on  her  way.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken.  There  was  no  need  of  orders,  or  cautions 
from  one  to  another.  Each  one  knew  his  own  place  and 
his  own  powers ;  each  one  knew  full  well  that  on  his  own 
skill  and  coolness  depended  his  own  life :  so  they  struggled 
on,  mounting  the  waves,  and  sternly  looking  danger  and 
death  in  the  face.  As  they  neared  the  ship  a  deafening 
cheer  went  up  from  deck  and  shrouds,  and  pale  and  anxious 
faces  bent  down  to  hail  them,  while  from  the  shore  strain- 
ing eyes  and  throbbing  hearts  followed  them. 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  be  able  to  reach  the  ship,  Uncle 
Lester  ?"  asked  little  Allen  Hesselten  of  the  old  man,  stand- 
ing silently  by  his  side. 

"  Bless  your  dear  little  soul,  boy,  I  hope  so ;  but  it's  a 
resky  trick,  in  the  best  of  weather,  to  put  a  boat  through 
them  are  breakers.  The  Lord  have  mercy  !"  suddenly  ex- 
claimed the  old  man,  lifting  and  clasping  his  hands,  "  they'll 
be  swamped — sure,  sartin,  they'll  be  swamped.  Look  t'other 
way,  boy — look  t'other  way ;  that's  a  sight  to  blind  your 
young  eyes."  And,  laying  his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  pale,  trembling  boy,  he  turned  his  face  from  the  sea. 

Oh,  the  untold  anguish  that  was  crowded  into  that  little 
speck  on  the  great  ocean  of  time  !  The  suffering,  never-to- 
be-forgotten,  endured  in  that  moment  of  fear  and  suspense  ! 
But  it  passed  ;  it  was  lost  in  the  thrill  of  joyful  relief,  as  the 
little  boat  was  again  descried  riding  the  wave,  and  in  close 
proximity  to  the  ship.  A  rope  was  thrown  by  a  steady 
hand,  and  caught  by  those  in  the  boat. 

"You  must  keep  back  your  men,  or  we  shall  come  no 


80  SEA-SPRAY. 

nearer,"  shouted  Hull ;  "  if  they  rush  upon  us  we  are  lost, 
and  your  chance  is  over." 

"  My  men  are  under  good  discipline,"  replied  a  pleasant, 
but  powerful  voice;  "and  if  they  were  not,  I  have  argu- 
ments here  to  enforce  my  authority,  and  prove  I  am  in 
earnest."  And  he  calmly  unbuttoned  his  blouse,  and  dis- 
played pistol  and  dagger  glistening  in  his  belt. 

"  How  many  can  you  take  with  safety  ?"  inquired  the 
speaker,  evidently  the  commander  of  the  stranded  ship. 

"  Not  many  the  first  time,"  replied  Hardy,  "  till  we  have 
tried  our  strength,  a  little.  How  are  you  situated — all  tight 
and  staunch  as  yet  ?" 

"  Not  so  badly  off  as  I  at  first  apprehended ;  the  water 
does  not  gain  on  us  very  fast ;  and,  if  you  can  take  off  these 
terrified  women  and  children,  I  think  I  and  my  sturdy  boys 
can  manage  to  keep  our  heads  above  water." 

While  this  brief  conversation  was  going  on,  the  hands 
had  not  been  idle,  and  arrangements  had  been  made  for 
lowering  the  trembling  and  timid  mothers,  and  their  cling- 
ing, helpless  little  ones,  into  the  boat.  It  was  a  frightful 
and  difficult  work,  but  it  was  carefully  and  skilfully  done. 

"  We  can  take  two  more  if  you  are  quick,"  said  Hull. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  the  Captain,  turning  kindly  and  defer- 
entially to  a  tall  gentleman  of  dignified  and  commanding 
appearance — the  centre  of  an  interesting  group.  He 
paused.  How  could  he  part  that  father  from  the  depend- 
ent and  fragile  beings  that  clung  to  him  ?  Yet,  life  was  at 
stake.  Lives  more  than  theirs — lives  that  had  been  nobly 
risked  to  rescue  them. 

"  Evelyn,  they  can  take  two  cnore.     What  say  you  ?" 

"  Go,  Ada — go,  Ernest."  But  the  lady  clung  to  him 
with  wild  and  passionate  entreaties. 


SEA-SPRAY.  31 

"  Oh,  Walter — dear  Walter,"  she  pleaded,  Kdo  not  drive 
us  away  from  you.  I  cannot  leave  you — I  will  not." 

"  But,  Ada,  we  can't  all  go  ;  and  you  know  that  nothing 
but  death  parts  me  from  our  poor,  helpless  Edith.  Ernest, 
my  son,  go.  Show  your  mother  that  yon  can  be  firm,  and 
obey  me." 

The  boy  looked  for  one  brief  moment  with  a  shudder  at 
the  beloved  form  he  was  clinging  to,  then  turned  silently 
away,  and  was  lowered  into  the  boat. 

"  Now,  Ada,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  insist  upon  it,  you 
must  go."  But  the  lady  clung  to  him  with  the  more  de- 
termined grasp. 

"  If  the  lady  will  not  come,  we  must  leave  her  ;  every 
second  counts,  and  life  is  dear  to  us  all,"  said  Melton. 

"Oh,  come,  mother,"  cried  the  boy;  "don't  leave  me 
to  go  alone.  Do  come  !  You  don't  know  how  nice  it  is." 

"  Ada,"  said  the  gentleman,  sternly,  as  a  flush  of  angry 
mortification  for  an  instant  chased  the  pallor  from  his 
broad,  thoughtful  brow — "  Ada,  have  done  with  childish 
folly,  this  reckless  trifling  with  life."  And  stooping  down, 
he  forcibly  unclasped  her  hold  from  his  garments,  while 
the  angry  feeling  faded  from  his  heart ;  and  pressing  his 
lips  to  her  pale,  calm  brow,  he  turned  back  to  shield  and 
comfort  the  frail,  shrinking,  delicate  girl,  who  stood  silent 
and  motionless,  looking  out  with  a  startled  and  terrified 
gaze  upon  the  little  tossing  boat  to  which  had  been  com- 
mitted the  keeping  of  those  so  very,  very  dear. 

Walter  Evelyn  passed  his  arm  caressingly  round  the 
fragile  form  of  his  child,  and  throwing  the  folds  of  his 
ample  cloak  around  her,  as  he  drew  her  to  his  bosom,  shut 
out  that  fearful  prospect  from  her  view. 

The  little  boat  toiled  on.     Now  lying  almost  motionless 


32  SEA-SPRAY. 

on  the  foam,  now  darting  forward,  as  the  quick  eye  and 
skilful  hand  of  Captain  Hull  directed  her  movements. 

It  was  no  boy's  play,  that  tremendous  struggle  between 
the  strong  arm  and  conquering  will  of  man,  and  the  great 
power  and  unyielding  force  of  those  weltering  waves. 

"  Back  water,  boys — slarn  all — there's  a  bull  wave 
coming,"  shouted  Hull.  "Now  take  the  ride  of  the  wave, 
and  starn  her  on  with  a  will." 

"  It  was  done  with  set  teeth  and  stern  brows.  The 
wave  flowed  back,  and  the  boat  grated  on  the  sand. 

Eager  hands  were  put  forth.  Strong  men  rushed  in 
shoulder  deep  to  the  work,  and  the  panting  and  exhausted 
rowers  resigning  the  oars  to  the  care  of  fresh  hands,  sought 
rest  and  refreshment,  amid  troops  of  rejoicing  and  con- 
gratulating friends. 

The  women  and  children  were  tenderly  lifted  out  of  the 
boat,  and  carried  up  beyond  the  reach  of  wave  and  spray, 
under  shelter  of  the  banks,  where  kind  and  gentle  hands 
ministered  to  their  necessities,  and  soft,  sweet  voices  spoke 
words  of  encouragement,  consolation  and  hope.  But  how 
should  they  be  comforted  who  had  left  loved  ones  behind ! 
How  should  they  exult  in  their  own  deliverance,  when  their 
hearts  dearer  halves  were  still  aching  with  anxiety  and 
grief  beyond  that  fearful  flood  ! 

Ada  Evelyn  sunk  on  her  knees  on  the  sand,  and  stretch- 
ing her  arms  toward  the  ship,  as  though  she  would  thus 
reach  her  husband  and  child,  swayed  her  slight  figure  at 
every  fresh  gathering  wave,  in  stony  and  tearless  agony. 
The  fair  boy  stood  by  her  side,  shivering  with  fear  and  ter- 
ror for  those  dear  ones  still  on  the  wreck,  and  sobbing  forth 
his  entreaties  that  she  would  heed  and  answer  the  words  of 
cheerful  soothing  addressed  to  her. 


SEA-SPRAY.  83 

It  was  vain.  She  was  absorbed  in  her  own  sorrow,  and 
had  no  thought  for  the  gentle  little  suffering  heart  that  was 
bursting  with  grief  beside  her. 

"  See,  mother,"  said  the  boy,  "  the  boat  has  gone  off 
again — they  are  going  off  with  two  boats,  mother.  Father 
and  Edith  will  come  this  time." 

The  mother  spoke  not,  but  she  turned  her  face  toward 
him  a  moment,  then  passed  her  arm  around  him,  and 
strained  him  with  a  convulsive  clasp  to  her  side. 

"  Look,  Evelyn,"  said  the  captain  on  board  the  wrecked 
vessel,  "  look,  there  are  two  boats  making  for  us  this  time, 
and  it  is  perilous  work,  too.  Thank  God,  since  this  must 
be,  that  we  have  struck  among  a  glorious  race.  There  is 
something  grand  in  such  desperate  daring.  Come,  shall  we 
get  you  out  of  this  treacherous  craft  ?" 

"  Take  Edith  first,"  said  the  gentleman  addressed ;  but 
Edith  could  not  be  separated  from  her  father.  In  speech- 
less anguish  she  clung  to  him,  turning  shudderingly  away 
from  the  arms  extended  to  receive  her. 

"  Take  her,  De  Koven,"  said  Evelyn  ;  "  you  will  guard 
her  for  me,  I  know." 

"  With  my  life,  yes,"  answered  De  Koven. 

"  She  will  never  be  induced  to  leave  me;  I  will  go  first, 
and  she  will  come  to  me." 

So  saying,  he  placed  the  fainting  and  helpless  girl  in  De 
Koven's  arms,  and  with  danger  and  difficulty  was  let  down 
into  the  boat. 

"  Come  now,  Miss,"  urged  Hull,  "  come,  and  I  will  en- 
gage to  carry  you  to  your  mother  with  nothing  more  than 
a  wetting.  Come,  sis,  we  will  carry  you  safely." 

Evelyn  turned  to  the  speaker,  with  an  expression  of  deep 
suffering  in  his  glance. 

2 


34  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  I  thank  you  for  your  patient  kindness, 
God  knows  how  fervently  ;  but  entreaties  are  unheeded 
here.  My  poor,  unfortunate  child,  can  neither  speak  nor 
hear — a  mute  from  her  birth." 

Hull  almost  dropped  his  oar  at  this  announcement,  and  a 
sickening,  enervating  feeling  pressed  upon  his  heart.  He 
could  laugh  at  the  wind,  and  look  defiance  in  the  face  of  the 
wave.  He  could  grapple  with  an  enraged  whale  without 
blenching ;  but  his  heart  sunk  and  softened  at  the  mute 
agony  of  that  little  pale  face.  So  he  looked  another  way, 
and  forced  back  the  tears. 

"Will  you  come  now,  De  Koven?"  asked  Evelyn,  when 
Edith  was  safely  deposited,  motionless,  in  his  embrace  ; 
"  will  you  come  ?  there  is  room  for  another." 

"  Why  should  I  leave  her  ?"  said  De  Koven,  mournfully, 
casting  a  sad  look  over  the  ruined  structure  on  which  he 
stood.  "  She  has  been  to  me  a  home,  and  household, 
and  kindred  and  friends  ;  I  have  known  no  other.  Why 
should  I  forsake  her  ?" 

"  I  think,  notwithstanding,  you  will  do  well  to  come  off 
now,  said  Hardy ;  "  the  wind  talks  of  backing  round,  and 
there  will  be  a  splash  here  before  long,  that  few  would  be 
daring  enough  to  put  an  oar  into." 

"  I  will  stick  to  her  a  little  longer  :  I  think  I  will  not 
abandon  her  yet.  If  I  don't  see  you  again,  good-bye,  Eve- 
lyn— good-bye,  gentlemen — God  reward  and  bless  you." 

"  De  Koven,  this  is  madness,"  said  Evelyn.  "  Will  you 
not  come  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  De  Koven. 

"  As  you  will,  then,"  said  Hardy. 

De  Koven  raised  his  hat.  The  rowers  bent  silently  to 
their  oars,  and  the  boat  darted  away.  Not  one  word  was 


SEA-SPRAY.  35 

uttered,  as  with  steady  stroke  they  labored  and  struggled, 
sometimes  almost  despairingly,  to  gain  the  shore.  But  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  was  over  them,  and  His  ear  had  heark- 
ened to  the  cry  which  in  that  trying  hour  had  gone  up 
from  so  many  aching,  but  trustful  and  believing  hearts. 

There  was  rejoicing,  and  deep,  devout  outpourings  of 
thankfulness,  as  hand  clasped  hand,  and  separated  families 
and  anxious  friends  sprang  to  each  other's  embrace. 

Evelyn  bore  the  helpless  form  of  his  fair  child  to  the  spot 
where  her  mother  was  kneeling,  and  placing  heron  abed 
of  blankets  and  shawls  which  kind  hands  had  spread, 
bent  anxiously  over  her.  She  was  in  a  state  of  utter  pros- 
tration, and  to  their  affectionate  ministration  made  no  sign 
or  response. 

"  She  is  utterly  unconscious,"  exclaimed  Evelyn,  in  a 
tone  of  alarm.  "  Can  she  be  so  exhausted  ?  Is  this  faint- 
ness  ?" 

He  raised  her  hand.  The  little  slender  fingers  lay  pow- 
erless. There  came  no  answering  pressure  to  his  clasp. 
Evelyn  looked  appealingly  round — all  were  strangers — but 
sympathising  faces  and  tearful  eyes  met  his  glance. 

"  Doctor,  doctor,  pray  come  here,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  call- 
ing to  the  physician  of  the  village,  who  was  standing  near. 

Dr.  Hesselten  stepped  over  to  the  beautiful  child,  and 
took  her  little  cold  hand  in  his.  He  laid  his  fingers  on  the 
snowy  wrist  for  a  moment,  then  laid  back  the  powerless 
lirnb,  and  with  a  deep,  tremulous  sigh,  stepped  silently  back. 

"  She  may  rally,"  said  he,  in  reply  to  the  inquiring  looks 
of  those  who  surrounded  him.  "  She  may  rally,  but  it  is 
not  probable — I  should  say  scarcely  possible." 

''  Oh  Edith,  Edith,  my  sweet,  sinless  child !  It  is  cruel, 
too  cruel  to  send  this  blight  on  thy  young  life,  in  expiation 


36  SEA-SPRAY. 

of  my  sin,"  was  the  frenzied  cry  of  Mrs.  Evelyn,  as  the  ter- 
rible truth  flashed  upon  her. 

"Ada — Ada — my  poor,  suffering  wife,  speak  not  such 
bitter  and  impatient  words." 

But  Ada  heeded  him  not,  as  she  stood  with  clasped  hands 
and  fixed  gaze  bending  over  her  child. 

"  See,  see,  Ada,"  said  Evelyn,  "  be  comforted — she  moves 
— she  revives." 

Slowly  the  heavy  lids  were  lifted  from  those  dark,  dreamy 
eyes ;  languidly  their  dying  glance  was  turned  to  the  loved 
faces  bending  over  her.  But  oh,  that  bitter  thought !  There 
was  no  avenue  by  which,  in  that  last  brief  awakening,  her 
soul  could  hold  communion  with  theirs. 

The  sweetest  music  in  all  the  universe  of  God,  the  voice 
of  kindred  affection,  had  never  gladdened  her  ear.  The 
blessed  words,  "Father,"  or  "Mother,"  or  "God,"  had 
never  found  utterance  from  those  mute  lips.  The  silent 
signs  of  language  her  fingers  were  now  powerless  to  make, 
and  it  was  appalling  to  witness  the  terrible  struggles  on  that 
sweet  face,  writhing  in  its  speechless  agony. 

Suddenly,  with  one  desperate  effort,  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
and  pointing  with  her  right  hand  upward,  and  motioning 
with  a  beckoning  gesture  for  them  to  follow,  she  sunk  upon 
the  bosom  of  her  father.  It  was  over  now.  The  long 
lashes  fell  over  the  sweet,  fair  cheek,  and  the  mute  child, 
so  cherished,  and  guarded,  and  idolized,  needed  their  care 
no  more. 

"  Edith — Edith,"  said  Ada,  bending  over  the  lifeless  form 
of  her  child,  and  speaking,  with  deliberate  and  startling  dis- 
tinctness— "  it  is  your  mother  who  has  done  this.  Thou, 
my  beautiful,  for  my  '  transgression.'  The  fruit  of  my  body 
for  the  sin  of  my  soul." 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.  ALDEN  kindly  approached  the  heart-broken  group, 
thus  cast,  in  shipwreck  and  storm,  with  such  a  crushing 
weight  of  sorrow,  strangers  upon  an  unknown  shore. 

"  He  that  keepeth  thee  will  not  sleep,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  extended  his  hand  to  Evelyn,  while  Dr.  Hesselten 
and  the  ladies  gently  led  away  the  scarcely  conscious 
mother  and  sobbing  boy,  and  with  delicate  ministrations 
composed  and  covered  the  lovely  child  thus  suddenly 
stricken  by  the  Angel  of  Death. 

"  This  is,  indeed,  a  sore  and  unlooked-for  trial  to  us  all," 
said  Evelyn.  "My  poor  wife  was  worn  down  with  fright, 
fatigue,  and  exposure ;  and  this  last  blow  has  well  nigh 
maddened  her.  She  needs  rest  and  kindly  care." 

"  She  does,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  to  whom  the  agi- 
tated man  addressed  his  remark — "  she  does,  indeed  ;  and, 
let  me  assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  among  a  people 
who  will  gladly  proffer  it." 

"Allow  me  to  ask,"  rejoined  Evelyn,  "are  you  the 
rector  of  the  church  I  see  yonder  across  the  fields  ?" 

"  I  am  the  pastor  of  this  little  flock.  I  have  spent  ten 
contented  happy  years  among  them  ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  I 
have  found  them  a  noble  people — yes,  a  truly  noble  people." 

No  doubt  Mr.  Alden  meant  precisely  what  he  said ;  for  his 


38  SEA-SPRAY. 

was  a  kindly  and  trustful  nature ;  and  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  others  were  as  liberal  and  lavish  of  their  sub- 
stance and  their  sympathies  as  he  was  himself. 

"  Mr.  Alden,"  said  Alice  Hesselten,  laying  her  hand  on 
the  reverend  gentleman's  arm,  "  it  is  time  to  get  these 
people  off  the  Beach.  1  wish  to  take  them  home  with  me. 
Will  you  extend  an  invitation  to  the  gentleman  for  me  ?" 

*'  Certainly,  certainly — I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  it ;" 
and  the  good  clergyman,  who  was  never  so  happy  as  when 
he  was  conferring  a  favor  or  a  civility  upon  another,  turned 
again  to  Evelyn,  and  repeated  the  message  entrusted  to 
him.  "Let  me  assure  you,"  he  added,  in  conclusion,  "  you 
could  not  have  found  pleasanter  quarters  ;  and  I  can  speak 
from  my  own  past  experience,  when  I  say,  I  know  they 
will  make  .you  very  comfortable." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Evelyn,  "  I  shall  accept  the  hospi- 
tality so  promptly  tendered  to  me,  for  the  sake  of  those  de- 
pendent claimants  on  my  care  ;  but  it  will  be  painful  to 
intrude  so  much,  and  such  peculiar  trouble,  upon  the  quiet 
of  a  private  family."  And  he  glanced  sadly  at  the  covered 
form  of  his  child. 

"  You  may  put  that  thought  away/'  said  Leena.  "  It  will 
give  us  pleasure  to  minister  to  your  personal  and  physical 
wants.  Beyond  that,  you  must  look  above." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  "  I  will  look  about  among  the 
wagons,  and  see  if  I  can  find  a  comfortable  conveyance." 

"  There's  Sam  Grey,"  said  Leena,  looking  towards  a  per- 
son who  was  standing  a  little  apart,  with  folded  arms,  sur- 
veying the  scenes  enacting  among  the  various  groups 
gathered  here  and  there  on  the  shore. 

"He  has  a  commodious  covered  wagon.  I  will  call 
him." 


SEA-SPRAT.  39 

"  Sam  Grey  hears,"  said  the  young  man,  advancing, 
"  and  is  ready  to  do  anything  the  ladies  desire." 

"  Is  your  wagon  here  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  can  soon  have  it  here." 

"  Off  with  you,  then,  if  you  can,  and  get  it." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  he,  lifting  his  cap  and  bowing  pro- 
foundly, with  an  air  of  mock  reverence,  while  the  laughter 
would  look  out  at  the  windows  of  his  great  black  eyes. 
He  could  not  help  it.  There  was  enough  of  kindness  hid- 
den in  his  heart,  but  some  quizzical  nonsense  always  floated 
first  to  the  surface.  He  mounted  his  horse  and  galloped 
quickly  away. 

"  I  think,"  said  Alice,  aside,  to  Leena,  "  while  we  wait 
for  Sam,  I  will  go  and  consult  some  of  the  ladies,  as  to 
means  and  measures  for  housing  and  feeding  all  these 
people." 

"  There's  Mrs.  Melton,  and  Mrs.  Melville,  and  Mrs. 
Osgood,  and,  in  fact,  Mrs.  and  Miss  everybody  else  ;  and 
there's  Mrs.  Hesselten  talking  with  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

"  Well,  let  Mrs.  Hesselten  alone,  then,  for  she  is  where 
she  is  most  needed.  We  will  talk  with  the  others." 

So  they  wended  their  way  through  the  crowds  of  curious 
idlers,  till  they  reached  a  group  of  ladies,  who  were  kindly 
chatting  with  some  wet,  weary,  sad  looking  women,  re- 
clining listlessly  on  the  sand. 

"  I  am  glad  you've  come,"  said  Mrs.  Melville.  "  I  should 
like  to  know  what's  going  to  be  done  with  all  these  poor 
forlorn  objects  ?" 

"  Why,  you  must  take  a  houseful  yourself,  and  we  must 
divide  the  pleasure  among  us." 

"  Pleasure,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Melville,  bluntly,  with  a 
peal  of  laughter  that  rung  along  the  shore.  "  Now,  that's 


40  SEA-SPRAY. 

just  like  you.  Well,  I  am  sure  I  am  ready  to  do  all  I  can  ; 
but  I  shan't  call  it  pleasure,  for  it  will  be  anything  else,  I 
shall  feel  so  sorry  for  the  poor  helpless  things." 

She  expressed  a  kind  feeling  in  unaffected  words,  but 
she  was  true  as  steel  notwithstanding. 

"  Where  is  the  lovely  sick  lady  and  the  pretty  little 
dumb  girl  ?"  asked  a  pale  looking  woman  in  a  feeble  voice, 
who  had  come  off  in  the  boat  with  the  lady. 

"  The  pretty  little  dumb  girl  is  dead,  and  the  lovely  lady 
is  mourning  over  her." 

The  poor  woman  sunk  back  with  a  sickened  heart,  and 
looked  more  wan  and  weary  than  before  ;  while  the  ladies 
who  had  gathered  around  came  forward  with  eager  interest 
to  hear  the  details  of  so  unexpected  an  event. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Melville,  as  the 
tale  was  ended. 

"  And  where  are  they  all  now  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Melton, 
who  had  been  tenderly  adjusting  wrappers  around  the 
suffering  woman  on  the  sand. 

"  They  are  a  short  distance  westward,  near  the  lane," 
said  Alice.  "We  are  waiting  for  Sam  Grey  to  come 
back  with  his  wagon,  and  they  are  going  home  ivith  us." 

"  What !  corpse  and  all  ?"  said  Mrs.  Melville. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Melton.  "  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?" 

"  Well !  you  will  have  a  job,"  said  Mrs.  Melville. 

"I  know  it,"  said  Alice  ;  "  but  we  may  as  well  do  it  as 
anybody." 

"  Better — much  better  than  any  of  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Melton  and  Mrs.  Osgood,  speaking  together. 

"And  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Melton,  in  con- 
tinuance, "  that  you  can  do  it  with  so  little  inconvenience 


SEA-SPRAY.  41 

— you  have  plenty  of  room,  a  small,  quiet  family,  and  no 
business  to  be  interrupted.  If  you  find  you  have  under- 
taken more  than  your  share  of  this  sad  business,  we  must 
all  render  you  any  assistance  you  need." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  get  sick,  but  this  is  great  exposure," 
said  Mrs.  Osgood,  with  an  uneasy  glance  at  her  slender 
neighbor. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall,"  replied  Alice,  quietly  ;  "but  we 
had  better  go  back,  and  have  all  ready  when  Sam  comes. 
Are  you  going  up  soon  ?"  said  she,  addressing  the  ladies 
generally. 

"  I  am  for  one,"  said  Mrs.  Melville  ;  "  but  I  am  waiting 
to  know  how  these  folks  are  to  be  disposed  of.  This  poor 
thing  can't  walk,  or  I  would  take  her  home  with  me." 

"  Our  wagon  is  here  somewhere,"  said  Mrs.  Melton, 
"  for  I  rode  down  on  purpose  to  bring  Melton  and  the  boys 
something  to  eat — they  have  been  here  all  day  without 
anything." 

"  Were  you  here  when  your  husband  went  off  in  the 
first  boat  ?"  asked  Alice. 

"I  am  thankful  I  was  not,  for  I  should  have  tried  to 
prevent  his  going  ;  and  if  I  had" — 

"  I  should  not  have  been  here  to  thank  and  bless  him," 
interrupted  the  pale  woman  among  the  shawls,  with  a 
burst  of  tearful  emotion. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Melton, 
pleasantly ;  "  there  was  enough  without  him,  for  you  see 
the  boats  are  going  back  and  forth  all  the  time,  and  he  is 
eating  his  dinner  yonder  very  much  at  his  ease." 

Mrs.  Melton  was  right.  For,  as  if  in  scorn  of  the  predic- 
tions of  the  weather-wise  watchers  of  its  motions,  the 
wind  had  concluded  to  "  blow  where  it  listed,"  and  having 

2* 


42  SEA-SPRAY. 

hauled  quite  round  to  the  northwest,  had  furled  up  its 
wings  for  the  present. 

When  Alice  and  Leena  returned  to  the  place  where 
they  had  left  the  Evelyns,  they  found  little  change  in  the 
position  of  the  group.  Mrs.  Hesselten  was  still  sitting 
with  Mrs.  Evelyn,  who,  with  her  head  buried  in  the  lap  of 
her  kind  consoler,  was  moaning  and  sobbing  like  a  wearied 
child. 

Col.  Hesselten  was  soothing  and  caressing  the  gentle 
little  boy,  who,  worn  out  with  weeping,  had  nestled  him- 
self into  his  lap,  as  if  instinctively  attracted  to  the  kind 
heart  against  which  he  leaned ;  while  Allen  crept  softly 
down  beside  them  on  the  sand,  and  looked  on  with  a 
sweet,  sad,  solemn  face  of  interest  and  awe. 

"I  rather  marvel,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  addressing  himself 
to  Evelyn,  who  still  stood  with  folded  arms  by  his  side — 
"  I  rather  marvel  that  you  should  have  taken  such  a  route 
from  Boston  to  New- York  at  this  season,  when  there  are 
so  many  facilities  for  traveling  that  distance  more  com- 
fortably." 

"  Doubtless  it  does  seem  surprising  that,  with  my  delicate 
family,  I  should  do  so ;  but  there  are  many  reasons. 
In  the  first  place  we  are  strongly  attached  to  De  Koven. 
We  owed  our  lives  to  him  years  ago,  and  I  always  take 
passage  with  him  when  I  can.  We  never  frequent  public 
places,  or  travel  by  public  conveyances  when  we  can 
avoid  it.  My  poor  little  timid,  shrinking  Edith,  was 
wretched  among  strangers,  and  my  wife  was  morbidly 
nervous  and  sensitive  on  her  account." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  and  then,  with  a  faltering 
voice,  proceeded : 

"  Edith  was  familiar  with  De  Koven,  and  loved  him  ;  for 


SEA-SPRAY.  43 

he  understood  her  nature  and  never  wounded  it.  For  that 
cause,  more  than  any  other,  I  sailed  with  him." 

"  Allen,  where's  your  father  ?"  asked  Leena. 

"  He's  busy  yonder,  by  the  bathing-house.  One  of  the 
sailors  is  there,  with  his  hand  dreadfully  crushed,  and  father 
has  been  home  after  instruments  and  necessaries  to  dress 
it." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  walk  up ;  for  Dury  will  require 
help  and  instructions  about  preparing  to  receive  our  guests, 
and  I  should  like  to  have  you  go  with  me." 

Allen  arose  cheerfully  to  comply,  though,  in  truth,  he 
would  rather  have  remained  where  he  was  ;  for  he  was  an 
enthusiast  in  his  love  of  the  sea,  and  of  everything  that 
spread  sail  on  its  surface  ;  but  he  was  a  good,  affectionate 
boy ;  so,  though  his  heart  was  still  busy  with  the  stirring 
drama  on  the  shore,  he  looked  resolutely  away,  and  fol- 
lowed his  aunt. 

"  Got  home  at  last,  huh ! — 'gun  ter  think  yer  warnt 
niver  comin,"  said  Dury,  who  sat  picking  over  beans,  pre- 
paratory to  baking ;  pork  and  beans  being  a  prime  dish 
with  her,  and  one  which,  with  the  pertinacious  determina- 
tion of  her  race,  she  regularly  presented  at  stated  periods, 
whether  agreeable  to  others  or  not.  Comfortably  en- 
sconced within  the  wide,  capacious  jambs  of  the  kitchen 
fire-place,  in  her  favorite  niche  under  the  oven,  Dury  was 
always  happy,  especially  with  cooking  in  prospect ;  so  she 
looked  up  as  Leena  entered,  with  a  contented  grunt,  remark- 
ing, "  gon'  ter  bake  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Leena,  "  for  we  shall  need  some- 
thing nice,  and  if  anybody  can  produce  it,  I  am  sure  our 
Dury  can ;  but  you  will  have  to  put  aside  your  beans  for 
the  present,  for  I  want  you  all  over  the  house." 


44  SEA-SPEAY. 

"  Can't,  no  how,"  said  Dury. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  now,  Dury,  and  you  will,  I  know  ; 
come,  Dury,  do,  and  I  will  help  you  with  your  beans  be- 
fore bed-time.  We  shall  have  a  distressed  family  here 
from  the  wreck,  before  we  are  half  ready  for  them." 

Dury  continued  to  pour  her  beans  from  one  hand  into 
the  other,  blowing  out  the  chaff  as  they  fell,  with  grave 
equanimity,  carrying  out  her  own  purpose. 

"  Oh,  Dury !  do  stop  and  help  me.  I  want  a  fire  in  the 
great  chamber  immediately,  and  good,  blazing  fires  in  both 
rooms,  and  I  want  bedding  aired,  and  tea  got  ready,  and — 
oh,  dear  me  !  I  want  everything  done,  and  all  done  first ; 
and  what  shall  I  do  if  you  won't  stir  ?" 

"Done  now,"  said  Dury,  rising  composedly  and  shaking 
her  apron.  "  Wha'  shill  I  do  fust  ?" 

"  Get  up  the  fires  first,  Dury  ;  the  lady  will  probably  wish 
to  go  to  bed  at  once.  No,  stop — first  put  a  cot  in  the  front 
room,  and  spread  a  nice  sheet  on  it." 

"  Want  bed,  I  spuz  ?" 

"  No,  Dury,  no  bed  will  be  required."     Dury  stared. 

"  The  little  girl  is  dead  that  is  to  be  lain  on  it,  Dury." 

Dury  dropped  her  basket  of  chips,  which  she  had  filled, 
preparatory  to  obeying  the  order  first  given. 

"  Ain't  gon'  ter  bring  dead  corpse  here  ?" 

"  Why  not,  Dury  ?  what  else  can  they  do  ?  You  would 
not  like  to  leave  one  of  your  children  lying  on  the 
Beach  ?" 

"Guh!  have  left 'em  many  a  dark  night  on  Naapeag 
Beach,  and  in  Hether  woods,"  said  Dury,  honestly. 

"  You  have,  Dury ! — but  they  were  not  dead  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  was — dead-drunk,"  speaking  as  if  in  a  spirit 
of  expiatory  self-condemnation. 


SEA- SPRAY.  45 

"  Oh,  Dury !  how  could  you  do  such  a  thing  ?  I  wonder 
they  did  not  perish." 

"Would,  eff  Lord  hadn't  took  better  care  on  'em  than  old 
squaw,"  said  Dury,  as  she  mounted  the  back  stairs  with 
fuel  for  the  lodging-room  fire. 

"  I'm  dreffle  sorry,  Miss  Leena,  they're  comin'  here  with 
that  garl  corpse,"  said  Dury,  with  that  aversion  to  coming 
in  contact  with  the  dead  which  was  one  of  the  characteris- 
tic peculiarities  of  her  tribe. 

"  It's  bad  sign  to  bring  dead  body  under  ruff." 

"  It  is  a  bad  sign,  Dury,  to  carry  one  out  from  under 
our  roof,"  said  Leena,  turning  the  blankets  she  had  hung  by 
the  fire. 

"  Wha's  sign,  Miss  Leena  ?  I  niver  knowd  as  was 
any,"  inquired  Dury,  bringing  out  volumes  of  smoke,  as, 
squatted  on  her  heels  on  the  hearth,  she  coaxed  the  reluc- 
tant blaze  with  the  front  breadth  of  her  petticoat. 

"  It  is  a  sign,  Dury,  and  I  know  it  to  be  a  true  one,  that 
there  are  aching  hearts  left  behind." 

"  Oh  !  yes-'m.     Well,  spuz  it  is." 

"  Now,  Dury,  the  fires  are  all  in  good  order,  and  the 
lodgings  prepared,  just  run  in  and  tell  Milly  I  wish  she 
would  come  here  as  soon  as  she  can." 

Dury  started,  but  put  her  head  back  before  closing  the 
door  to  say,  "  I'll  go  stay  'long  a'  Sophy  to-night." 

Poor  Dury  !  she  was  one  of  the  tidiest  of  her  proverbially 
tidy  race,  being  cleanliness  almost  to  a  fault,  honest  as 
truth,  faithful,  industrious,  economical,  skilful  in  kitchen- 
craft — she  was  a  treasure  to  her  employers,  but  for  one  dis- 
qualifying propensity  ;  she  had  sold  herself,  body  and  soul, 
to  the  demon  that  lurked  in  tin  kettles,  and  walked  stealthi- 
ly, even  in  sweet  Sea-spray,  in  junk  bottles  and  jugs — the 


46  SEA-SPRAY. 

destroying  angel  which  had  smitten,  and  well  nigh  exter- 
minated, the  once  numerous  and  powerful  tribe  of  Mon- 
tauk. 

"I  come  as  soon  as  I  could,''  said  Milly,  who  glided 
softly  in  as  Leena  was  busy  completing  her  arrange- 
ments ;  "  but  the  girls  have  gone  to  spend  a  week  with 
Mrs.  Davy,  and  I  had  so  many  little  things  at  home  to 
attend  to.  Can  I  help  you  in  anything  now  ?" 

"  Not  just  yet.  I  am  so  sorry  the  girls  have  gone,  for  I 
never  feel  as  if  anything  was  done  up  quite  right  that  they 
have  not  helped  in.  There  will  be  preparations  to  be 
made  for  the  burial  of  that  dear  little  child.  They  will  be 
here  soon ;  and  I  judge  from  what  I  saw  of  the  mother, 
that  she  is  wholly  incapacitated  for  giving  any  directions. 
If  you  will  take  that  care  off  our  hands,  it  will  relieve  us 
very  much.  You  will  be  ready  to  attend  to  it  as  soon  as 
they  arrive  ?" 

"  They  are  here  now,"  replied  Milly,  as  the  sad  party 
entered  the  passage. 

Pale  as  marble,  but  tearless  and  silent,  the  bereaved  and 
heart-sick  mother  was  borne  fainting  and  exhausted  into 
the  apartment,  and  sinking  helplessly  into  a  seat,  she 
suffered  the  wrappers  to  be  removed,  and  her  disordered 
dress  to  be  adjusted,  without  notice  or  comment,  her 
thoughts  apparently  entirely  abstracted  from  the  persons 
and  objects  around  her. 

"Ada,  my  poor  Ada!"  said  Evelyn,  bending  over  her  ; 
"  has  this  blow  utterly  crushed  you  ?" 

No  word  came  from  those  pale,  parched  lips. 

"  Speak  to  her,  Ernest,  my  son,"  said  Evelyn,  turning 
away  with  a  look  of  anguish. 

"  Mother — dear  mother,"  said  the  boy,  pressing  his  arm 


SEA-SPRAY.  47 

fondly  around  her  neck,  and  laying  his  cheek,  streaming 
with  tears,  to  hers.  "  Mother,  you  have  father  and  me 
left." 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  live  ?  Surely,  surely  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  is  too  heavy  upon  me.  In  terrible  judgment  for  my 
sins  hath  he  smitten  me,"  exclaimed  Ada,  as  she  lifted 
her  clasped  hands,  and  rose  from  her  seat  in  trembling  ex- 
citement. 

"  For  my  sake,  Ada — for  Ernest's  sake,  you  must  quiet 
this  excessive  emotion.  Be  calm,  Ada,  and  remember  that 
you  do  not  suffer  alone.  Can  you  not,  for  the  sake  of 
those  equally  afflicted,  subdue  this  passionate  sorrow?" 

"  I  will  try,  Walter — for  the  love  of  those  left  to  me,  I 
will  try.  But  this  is  a  fearful  judgment." 

"  It  is  a  painful  affliction,  dear  Ada,  but  we  must  bear  it 
submissively.  The  hand  that  bruises  can  bind,  and  while 
it  chastises  can  also  console.  Can  you  not  feel  that  there 
is  much  of  mercy  mingled  with  this  bitter  cup  ?" 

"  You  may  feel  so,  Walter,  for  you  are  pure  and  good. 
But  for  me — oh !  for  me — there  is  nothing  but  dread  and 
fear  of  God's  retribution,"  and  Ada  sank  back  in  her  seat, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Come,  mother,"  said  Ernest,  who  was  early  learning 
the  lesson  of  self-control,  and  was  resolutely  choking  down 
his  own  sorrow,  that  he  might  minister  to  that  of  another 
— "  come  mother,  the  tea-bell  has  rung,  and  you  need 
something,  I  am  sure,  for  you  have  had  nothing  all  day. 
Come,  mother,  do,  you  will  feel  better  then." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  eat — I  shall  never  eat  again,"  said  Ada, 
with  an  air  of  calm  decision  which  had  suddenly  taken 
the  place  of  the  passionate  grief  she  had  been  indulging. 

"Ada!  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  said  Evelyn,  gravely,  "don't  be 


48  SEA-SPRAY. 

perverse  in  your  sorrow,  but  command  yourself  and  come 
to  your  tea.  You  must  take  some  refreshment,  or  you 
will  sink  under  so  much  excitement.  Don't  add  to  the 
distress  of  this  sorrowful  hour,  anxiety  and  care  for  you." 

Ada  rose,  and  calmly  followed  her  husband  to  the  tea- 
table.  It  seemed  that  a  grave  nod,  or  a  look  from  that 
calm,  serious  eye,  had  a  strange  power  over  her,  for  her 
eye  turned  uneasily,  as  if  in  avoidance  of  the  earnest, 
anxious  watchfulness  of  his. 

Little  indeed  of  Dury's  good  cheer  was  disturbed,  for 
it  was  a -silent  and  hurried  meal,  scarcely  tasted  by  any  of 
the  little  circle  that  sat  down  to  it.  Alice  and  Leena  were 
disturbed  and  thoughtful.  They  wished  to  get  the  nervous 
and  excitable  mother  quietly  bestowed  in  the  apartment 
designed  for  her,  before  the  trying  and  painful  scene  so 
soon  to  be  enacted. 

"  Mrs.  Evelyn's  room  is  in  readiness,"  said  Alice,  with 
a  meaning  glance  towards  Evelyn ;  "  and  perhaps  you 
would  do  well  to  take  her  to  it  now." 

Evelyn  understood  the  motive,  and,  acting  upon  the 
suggestion,  took  Ada's  unresisting  arm  in  his,  and  led  her 
away. 

"  Now  you  must  betake  yourselves,  Ada  and  Ernest, 
both  of  you,  to  bed.  I  cannot  afford  to  have  any  evil 
come  nigh  you,  my  cherished  ones.  My  life,  and  all  that 
I  look  to  in  the  future  to  heighten  it,  now  centres  in  you." 

So  saying,  Evelyn  drew  the  frail  forms  to  his  bosom, 
and  they  sobbed  out  their  sorrows  together. 

Ernest  soon  laid  his  sweet  cherub  head  on  his  pillow, 
and,  worn  out  with  the  exhausting  emotions  of  the  past 
terrible  day,  dropped  calmly  to  sleep. 

"  Indulge  me,  Walter — indulge  me  in   this.     I  will  be 


SEA-SPRAY.  49 

calm,  and  content  myself.  The  first  frenzy  of  grief  is 
over.  I  will  speak  no  more  wild,  wicked  words.  Let  me 
sit  quietly  here  till — till" — her  voice  was  broken,  and  she 
paused — "  till  that  terrible  trial  is  over,  and  our  child  is 
brought  home  to  us.  I  must  look  on  her.  1  must,  dear 
Walter,  and  then  I  will  obey  you,  and  sleep,  if  I  can." 

Gently  and  noiselessly  the  beautiful  remains  of  the  fair 
child  were  brought  in,  and  laid  on  the  spotless  couch  spread 
to  receive  them. 

Kind  hearts  and  strong  hands  had  done  the  sad  service. 
Gentle  faces  bent  tearfully  over  the  cold  form,  and  soft 
voices  spoke  words  of  admiring  and  pitying  comment. 
The  considerate,  generous-hearted  men  who  had  borne  her 
in,  stood  for  a  moment  sadly  gazing  on  the  innocent  face 
of  the  unconscious  young  stranger  with  bowed  heads — 
then  turned,  and  walked  silently  away,  to  rougher  en- 
counters, and  noisier  and  worldlier  scenes. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DAYLIGHT  was  fading,  and  the  shadows  of  cloudy  twilight 
were  gathering  gloomily  over  the  waters.  All  who  wished 
to  do  so  had  left  the  ship ;  to  escape  with  life  had  been  the 
only  consideration,  and  no  one  had  looked  to  luggage,  or 
any  individual  property  interests. 

The  boats  were  hauled  up,  and  all  not  detained  by  busi- 
ness interests  were  seeking  their  homes.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  two  or  three  long-tried  and  devoted  followers  of  his 
fortunes,  the  young  master  was  alone  on  the  rolling  wreck. 
De  Koven  stood  for  some  time,  after  he  had  watched  the 
last  returning  boats  to  their  destination,  looking  out  with  a 
dreamy  gaze  upon  the  waters,  and  musing  sadly  and  silently 
holding  solemn  communion  with  his  own  thoughts,  and  pon- 
dering many  bitter  themes.  With  his  arms  folded  tightly 
across  his  chest,  as  if  he  would  hold  down  and  conquer  the 
chafing  lion  within,  he  leaned  his  back  against  the  spindle 
of  the  capstan,  with  his  storm-cap  drawn  down  over  his 
brows,  motionless,  and  sternly  looking  in  upon  himself. 

"Clarence  De  Koven,"  spoke  a  deep,  determined  voice 
at  his  elbow — "  Clarence  De  Koven,  what  are  you  up  to 
now  ?" 

De  Koven  turned,  with  flashing  eyes,  upon  the  daring 
disturber  of  his  thoughts. 


SEA-SPRAY.  51 

"  You  needn't  look  daggers  at  me,"  said  the  man,  calmly 
confronting  him  ;  "  you  know  very  well  I  don't  fear  you  " 
— De  Koven  took  a  step  forward,  with  a  glance  of  fury — 
"  half  as  much  as  I  love  you,"  pursued  the  speaker,  taking 
no  notice  whatever  of  the  passionate  gesture  of  his  supe- 
rior ;  "  so  I  ask  you  again,  what  are  you  up  to  now  ?" 

"  What  am  I  up  to  ?  Nothing,  but  standing  patiently 
here,  waiting  for  the  waves  to  swallow  me.  Why  should 
you  trouble  yourself  about  that  ?"  said  De  Koven,  sharply. 

"  Very  well,  then,  so  be  it ;  I  don't  object,  if  you  say  so. 
But,  Clarence  De  Koven,  how  will  you  answer  it  to  your- 
self— for  I  know  you  will  be  your  own  sternest  judge — how 
will  you  answer  it  to  yourself,  I  ask,  if  you  do  stand  idly 
here,  and  make  no  effort  to  save,  for  its  rightful  owners, 
what  is  no  longer  yours  ?  How  are  you  to  answer  it  to 
those  poor  fellows  on  the  Beach,  who  have  trusted  their 
little  property  to  your  keeping,  if  you  do  let  it  perish,  while 
you  pout  like  a  sulky  school-boy  ?" 

De  Koven  spoke  not  a  word  in  reply,  but  taking  up  the 
trumpet  which  he  had  thrown  carelessly  on  the  deck,  sent 
over  the  breakers  the  brief  order — "  Send  off  the  boats." 

"  Now,  Lundy,  summon  the  men." 

"  That's  easily  done,"  said  Lundy  ;  and  they  soon  stood 
looking  kindly  and  affectionately  into  the  face  of  their  fiery 
>oung  Captain.  De  Koven  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
handed  it  to  Lundy. 

"  There's  money  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  pay 
all  the  men  ;  divide  it  among  them.  Go  ashore,  my  fine 
fellows,  and  never  mind  me." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  in  stupid  amazement. 

"  You  see,  the  boats  are  coming  off,  and  you  are  of  no 
use  here — be  off,  and  God  bless  you  !  Go." 


62  SEA-SPRAY. 

The  men  drew  back  for  Lundy  to  be  spokesman. 

'•'  And  leave  you  here  ?  So  you  expect  us  to  do  it,  I  sup- 
pose  ?  I  have  not  followed  your  fortunes  from  the  hour 
you  were  born,  to  tack  about  now,  like  a  whipped  cur,  at 
your  bidding.  Did  not  I  take  you,  a  little  limsy  rag,  from 
your  mother's  arms  ?  Did  not  I  promise  her,  while  you  lay 
looking  up  in  my  face  with  your  great,  saucy,  wondering 
eyes,  that  I  would  love  you,  and  follow  you,  and  serve  you 
-as  long  as  you  needed  my  care  ?  Clarence  De  Koven,  the 
day  has  not  come  yet  that  you  can  do  without  it.  And 
you  think  to  buy  me  off  with  money,  do  you  ?  See  here !" 
and  he  gave  the  pocket-book  a  toss  which  sent  it  far  off 
into  the  sea. 

The  boats  had  by  this  time  reached  the  ship.  They  were 
manned  now  by  a  set  of  men  having  the  appearance  of 
paid  operatives,  with  the  exception  of  Hardy,  who  appeared 
now  to  have  come  off  in  his  official  capacity,  and  was  sit- 
ting at  his  ease  in  the  stern. 

"  Will  you  take  off  these  men  ?"  asked  De  Koven,  look- 
ing down  upon  them  over  the  bows. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Hardy ;  "  but  I  wish  to  speak  to  you, 
if  you  please,  a  moment." 

"  Bear  a  hand  here,  my  boys,  and  help  the  gentleman  on 
board,"  said  De  Koven,  advancing,  as  Hardy  struggled  to 
gain  a  footing  on  the  wet  and  slippery  deck.  "  I  am  sorry, 
sir,  that  I  cannot  offer  you  better  cheer  ;  it  is  not  my  wont 
to  do  the  honors  of  my  poor  craft  so  coldly  ;  but  necessity, 
you  know,  sir,  knows  no  law,  and  1  can  extend  neither 
courtesy  nor  kindness." 

"  I  did  not  come  off  here,  at  this  time  of  day,  to  bandy 
compliments,"  said  Hardy,  resolutely,  nettled  at  the  sneer 
which  he  fancied  lurked  under  De  Koven's  bland  speech. 


SEA-SPRAY.  53 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,"  said  De  Koven,  frankly  extending 
his  hand.  ''  I  am  a  wrecked  and  ruined  man,  just  at  this 
moment  particularly  out  of  humor  with  myself.  Bear  with 
me  if  I  am  a  little  savage.  You  are  the  wreck- master." 

"  I  am,"  replied  Hardy  ;  "  but  you  are  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  employ  me.  You  can  act  for  yourself,  if  you 
choose ;  but  I  thought  it  proper  to  ask  your  intentions,  for 
I  have  business  enough  of  my  own  to  attend  to,  and  I  have 
no  notion  of  loitering  away  time  here,  or  meddling  with  a 
business  that  don't  concern  me,  unless  you  wish  it." 

"  Can't  you  act  officially,  without  my  sanction  ?"  asked 
De  Koven. 

"  That   depends   upon   circumstances,"  replied   Hardy. 
"  In  certain  contingencies,  if  you  won't  act,  I  must.     To 
come  to  the  point  at  once,  who  owns  this  ship  and  cargo  ?" 
"  I  own  her  myself,  every  inch,  from  truck  to  keelson, 
except  the  personal   luggage  of  the  passengers  and  the 
traps  of  the  hands.     I  have  not  a  relative  or  dependent  in 
the  world  to  be  the  poorer  for  her  loss.     I  was  born  on  the 
sea,  and  cradled  under  sails.     A  ship  has  been  the  nurse  of 
my  childhood,  the  playfellow  and  companion  of  my  boy- 
hood ;  and  this  ship,"  said  he,  bringing  down  his  foot  pas- 
sionately upon  the  wet  plank  beneath  it — "  this  ship,  the  wife, 
children,  and  friends  of  my  manhood.     I  love  her,  sir,  as 
other  men  love  the  human  objects  on  which  they  place 
their  affections  ;  and,  because  I  have  nothing  else  on  earth 
to  love  or  to  live  for,  I  only  wished  to  go  down  in  death 
with  her,  and  bury  my  bones  with  hers  in  the  sand." 
"  Then  you  are  not  insured  ?"  inquired  Hardy. 
"  And  if  I  am,"  replied  De  Koven,  "  would  it  console  you 
for  the  loss  of  your  wife,  that  you  had  been  so  provident 
as  to  get  her  life  insured  ?" 


64  SEA-SPRAY. 

"As  I  never  have  owned  one  of  those  pretty  appendages, 
I  cannot  tell ;  but  if  you  are  not  insured,  I  have  no  further 
business  here.  I  have  no  authority  to  compel  a  man  to 
save  his  own  property,  if  he  chooses  to  throw  it  away." 

"But  I  am  insured — fully  insured.     What  then  ?" 

"  Then  it  is  one  of  those  contingencies  in  which,  I  be- 
lieve, I  am  obliged,  by  my  oath  of  office,  to  act,  if  you 
won't.  I  may  be  mistaken — but  I  shall  take  legal  advice, 
and  you  will  hear  from  me  again." 

"  By  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  De  Koven,  laying  his  hand 
on  Hardy's  shoulder  to  detain  him  ;  "you  have  given  me 
something  to  live  for.  How  could  I  be  such  a  blind,  stupid 
fool  as  to  forget  that,  as  soon  as  her  keel  grated  here,  every 
nail  in  her  planks,  and  every  thread  in  her  canvas,  be- 
longed to  others  ?  How  could  I  be  such  a  consummate  ass, 
calling  myself  a  man  of  business,  and  feeling  myself  a  man 
of  honor  ?  Lundy,  you  are  right,  the  time  has  not  come 
yet  when  I  am  fit  to  take  care  of  myself.  Throw  in  that 
valise  and  the  little  case  containing  the  ship's  papers,  which 
I  see  you  have  cared  for,  Lundy,  and  I  will  go  ashore  with 
the  gentleman." 

The  seamen  had  soon  thrown  in  the  choice  articles,  se- 
lected hurriedly  when  danger  threatened.  The  two  gentle- 
men took  their  seats  in  one  of  the  boats,  and  continued 
their  conversation  as  the  oarsmen  pulled  for  the  shore. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?"  asked  Hardy,  wishing  for  in- 
formation from  head-quarters,  which  he  had  gained  already 
from  some  of  the  seamen  who  had  improved  the  earliest 
opportunity  for  effecting  a  landing. 

De  Koven  smiled,  as  he  answered  explicitly  and  techni- 
cally :  "  The  good  ship  Orphan,  1200  tons  burthen,  from 
Liverpool  via  Boston ;  bound  to  New- York,  with  a  full 


SEA-SPRAY.  65 

cargo  of  dry  goods,  choice  liquors,  &c. ;  Clarence  Be  Koven, 
sole  owner,  agent  and  master." 

"  Dutiable  articles,  it  seems,  and  valuable,"  said  Hardy. 

"  Are  you  Maine  Law  folks  here  ?"  asked  De  Koven,  all 
his  buoyancy  of  heart  having  come  back  with  the  new  im- 
petus, which  the  necessity  for  action  had  engendered. 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Hardy,  with  a  meaning  glance  at 
some  of  the  oarsmen.  "  If  we  knock  in  the  heads  of  some 
of  your  fancy  brands,  it  will  not  be  to  moisten  the  clay  we 
plant  corn  in." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  practicable  to  get  my  unwieldy 
spouse  on  her  feet  again  ?  She  is  well  built,  and  in  perfect 
repair.  If  she  does  not  thump  too  hard  on  that  sandy  bed, 
when  her  cargo  is  out,  might  she  not  float  again  ?"  asked 
De  Koven,  anxiously,  for  his  heart  still  clung  to  his  deserted 
home,  left  alone  in  the  dash  of  the  sea. 

"  I  have  got  off  vessels,"  replied  Hardy,  "  but  they  were 
lighter  craft  than  yours.  If  the  weather  is  favorable,  and 
we  get  her  cargo  out  successfully,  it  might  be  done,  possibly 
— hardly,  though.  However,  you  can  have  Avery  down 
here  with  his  forces,  and  try  it,  if  you  choose." 

"  I  would  give  all  I  possess  on  earth,"  said  De  Koven, 
earnestly,  "  if  I  could  be  once  more  afloat  on  the  broad  sea, 
with  those  old  timbers  under  me.  I  could  begin  the  world 
over  again  with  a  stout  heart,  and  trust  to  my  own  ener* 
gies  to  redeem  my  fortunes." 

"  With  God's  blessing  on  your  efforts,  I  suppose  you 
mean,"  said  Hardy,  pleasantly. 

"  Oh,  ah — yes,  that,  of  course,"  replied  De  Koven,  with 
a  careless,  abstracted  air. 

"I  think  the  weather  works  fair  for  a  fine  day  to- 
morrow," said  Hardy,  as  they  stepped  out  of  the  boat. 


56  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Well,"  said  De  Koven,  I  shall  put  all  further  responsi- 
bility upon  you,  Captain  Hardy.  Situated  as  I  am,  I  should 
dislike  to  meddle  much  in  the  business  ;  but  I  feel  respon- 
sible for  the  safety  of  my  passengers  and  their  effects. 
Where  are  they  all  stowed  ?" 

"  I  have  made  arrangements  for  that,  as  far  as  I  could. 
The  women  and  children  are  scattered  among  the  families 
in  the  village  ;  and  the  men  are  waiting  till  some  order 
could  be  taken  about  getting  off  their  effects." 

"  Since  you  say  so,  I  shall  set  my  men  to  work  at  once, 
and  bring  off  her  lading  as  fast  as  we  can.  In  the  mean- 
time, Captain  De  Koven,  you  will,  if  you  please,  come  up 
home  with  me  and  get  some  refreshment.  We  can't  begin 
our  operations  just  yet." 

So  saying,  Captain  Hardy  gave  some  brief  directions  to 
his  assistants,  and  saying  he  should  return  in  an  hour  or 
two  to  the  active  discharge  of  his  onerous  duties,  he  took 
De  Koven  by  the  arm  ;  they  passed  over  the  banks,  and, 
crossing  the  bridge  thrown  over  the  long,  crooked,  and 
deep  pond  which  flowed  between  the  Beach  and  the  street, 
wended  their  way,  in  earnest  discourse,  to  the  village. 

"  So,  Lundy,  you  out-walked  us,"  remarked  De  Koven, 
to  his  faithful  and  free-spoken  friend,  who  was  awaiting 
his  arrival  at  the  residence  of  Captain  Hardy. 

"  I  out-traveled  you,  at  any  rate,"  replied  Lundy ;  "  for 
1  jumped  into  one  of  those  long-sided  rattle-traps,  called  a 
farm- wagon,  with  a  pair  of  horses  like  flying  dragons  ;  and 
I  know  not  when  my  bones  will  get  snugly  back  into  their 
sockets.  They  have  had  an  unceremonious  shaking,  any 
how.  But,  Captain,  you  look  tired.  Here,  take  this  seat. 
Once  well  settled  in  this,  you  will  forget  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  fatigue." 


SEA- SPRAY.  57 

So  saying,  he  wheeled  round  a  commodious  armed  chair> 
luxuriously  cushioned,  and  swinging  most  invitingly  back 
on  its  long,  curving  rockers.  De  Koven  dropped  languidly 
into  the  proffered  seat,  and,  throwing  himself  back  with  a 
listless,  melancholy  expression  on  his  fine  features,  watched 
the  embers,  as  they  glowed,  and  faded,  and  fell,  tracing 
grotesque  features,  and  strange  fantastic  figures,  and 
musing  over  the  shifting  and  shadowy  pursuits  and  pur- 
poses of  life,  its  bright,  fresh  hopes,  its  sweet,  early  dreams, 
its  fervid  aspirations,  its  soaring  ambition,  sparkling,  and 
flashing,  and  fading,  and  falling,  to  be  extinguished  in  dust 
and  ashes  at  last. 

"  Come,  Captain  De  Koven,"  said  Lundy,  who  had  been 
watching  him  with  a  look  of  anxious  and  fatherly  interest — 
"  come,  here  is  something  more  substantial  than  meditation 
to  feed  upon.  Just  wheel  round  your  chair." 

Captain  Hardy,  like  De  Koven,  was  a  bachelor,  and 
unencumbered  with  family  cares  ;  but  his  establishment 
was  presided  over  with  taste  and  skill,  and  the  table  in 
that  bright,  cheerful  little  parlor,  at  which  they  now  took 
their  seats,  was  set 'out  with  dainties  and  substantial  edibles, 
comforts  which  the  most  fastidious  epicure  would  have 
looked  upon  to  covet.  But  eating,  like  every  other  sub- 
lunary joy,  must  come  to  an  end  ;  so  they  shoved  back 
their  chairs,  and  began  to  take  thought  for  the  morrow. 

"  First,"  said  De  Koven,  "  I  must  look  about  among  rny 
passengers,  and  inquire  a  little  as  to  their  comforts  ;  and 
then,  if  you  please,  we  will  return  to  the  Beach,  and  see 
about  getting  out  their  luggage.  I  suppose  they  would 
like  to  take  the  rails  to-morrow,  if  that  is  practicable,  for 
New-York." 

"  Is  New-York  their  ultimate  destination,  or  are  they 

3 


58  SEA-SPRAY. 

bound  for  the  Far  West  ?"  asked  Hardy,  without  any  particu- 
lar interest  in  the  answer  to  a  question  he  had  asked  for  the 
sake  of  saying  something;  for  his  thoughts  were  wandering, 
where  he  felt  he  ought  himself  to  follow,  to  the  Beach. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  replied  De  Koven,  as  they 
stepped  out  into  the  street.  "  They  form  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  personal  friend  of  mine,  who  is  about  to  lo- 
cate on  a  large  tract  of  land,  I  believe,  in  this  State.  This 
is  New- York,  is  it  not  ?  Well,  the  farm  and  house  ser- 
vants who  have  been  reared  on  his  estate  at  home,  pre- 
fer following  his  fortunes  in  a  new  home  to  taking  service 
under  a  new  master  in  the  old  one.  Servants  are  servants 
in  England,  Captain  Hardy.  In  this  land  of  perfect  equal- 
ity, such  relations  are  not  recognized ;  or,  if  they  are,  it  is  on 
the  principle  of  making  the  servant  greater  than  his  lord." 

"  We  have  '  helps,'  "  said  Hardy,  dryly,  "  who  generally 
help  themselves  to  the  lightest  labor,  the  earliest  leisure,  and 
the  best  fare." 

De  Koven  found  his  fellow-voyagers  rested  and  re- 
freshed in  the  hospitable  homes  to  which  they  had  been 
admitted  :  and  as  they  turned  from  that  duty  once  more 
into  the  street,  he  remarked  :  "  I  should  like  to  look  in  upon 
Evelyn,  one  minute,  if  we  have  time ;  and  then  I  will  de- 
tain you  no  long  er 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  bury  his  child  here  ?''  asked 
Hardy,  by  way  of  breaking  to  De  Koven  intelligence  which 
he  knew  would  pain  him. 

"  Bury  his  child  here  !  In  God's  name,  what  do  you 
mean  ?"  inquired  De  Koven,  hurriedly. 

"  I  mean  that  the  little  girl  died  as  soon  as  she  was  land- 
ed. I  purposely  withheld  the  fact  from  you,  at  Lundy's 
suggestion,  until  you  had  dined  ;  and,  but  for  your  propo- 


SEA-SPRAY,  £9 

sal  to  call  on  him,  we  intended  you  should  sleep  over  your 
troubles  before  you  added  to  them.  You  will  excuse  me. 
I  presumed  that  Lundy  could  judge  in  the  matter  better 
than  I." 

De  Koven  seemed  in  no  haste  to  speak,  so  they  walked 
on  in  silence. 

" Dead !"  said  he,  at  length;  "  dead  !  Edith  Evelyn  dead. 
So  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  tenderly  cherished.  Why  are  these 
things  so  ?" 

"  In  mercy  and  kindness,  doubtless,"  replied  Hardy ; 
"  you  believe  so,  of  course." 

"  I  dare  say  I  should  be  a  better  man  if  I  did,"  replied 
De  Koven ;  but,  to  be  honest  with  you,  I  can't  see  it  so  at 
all." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  should.  Perhaps  in 
this  particular  instance  you  never  may,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  so  ;  and  you  may  live  to  acknowledge  that  even  in  this 
instance  there  was  wisdom  and  mercy." 

"And  justice,  too?"  asked  De  Koven,  with  something 
very  like  a  sneer. 

"  And  justice,  too !"  replied  Hardy. 

De  Koven  said  no  more.  His  was  evidently  an  unchas- 
tened  spirit,  a  high,  noble  nature,  to  be  loved  and  admired, 
and  wept  over  and  prayed  for. 

"  Come  on,  Hardy,  I  can't  see  Evelyn  to-night,  it  would 
utterly  unman  me.  His  unmurmuring  and  confiding  trust, 
his  perfect  and  unquestioning  submission  to  what  I  know 
he  would  devoutly  believe  to  be  the  chastening  of  the  Di- 
vine hand,  would  be  such  a  rebuke  to  my  high  strung  re- 
bellion. No,  1  can't  go  near  him  to-night."  He  quickened 
his  pace  as  he  spoke.  "  Evelyn  will  need  his  trunks  and 
his  packing  cases.  I  should  have  thought  of  that  sooner — 


60  SEA-SPRAY. 

but  this  provoking  business  of  stranding  my  ship,  is  one  I 
have  never  been  caught  in  before,  and  it  has  completely 
thrown  me  off  my  balance.  I  must  try  to  collect  my  be- 
wildered faculties." 

A  few  minutes'  brisk  walking  brought  them  on  to  the 
Beach.  Fires  had  been  kindled,  round  which  were  recli- 
ning, in  all  imaginable  attitudes,  groups  of  laborers,  waiting 
orders  from  the  wreck-master — the  ruddy  blaze  of  their 
watch-fires  gleaming  and  flashing  upon  their  figures  and 
faces,  and  lighting  up  a  scene  not  without  interest  in  its 
picturesque  and  solitary  wildness.  Soon  all  was  bustle  and 
activity ;  the  fires  were  deserted,  except  by  boys  and 
lookers-on,  not  efficient  in  rough  surf  service,  to  whom  was 
entrusted  the  charge  of  keeping  them  up,  for  the  occasional 
cheering  of  the  men  whose  arduous  duties  exposed  them 
to  wet  and  cold.  The  boats  were  again  in  requisition,  and 
the  business,  commencing  with  the  lighter  articles  of  bag- 
gage and  private  personal  property,  was  soon  fairly  pro- 
gressing —  De  Koven  on  board,  superintending,  with 
Lundy's  aid,  the  debarking  of  the  articles,  and  Hardy  on 
the  shore,  with  competent  and  trusty  deputies,  receiving 
and  taking  note  of  them.  So  they  worked  without  cessa- 
tion all  night,  and  the  morning  found  the  Beach  strewed 
with  boxes,  and  barrels,  and  bales,  and  shrouds,  and  sails, 
and  spars,  and  alive  with  a  motley  assemblage  of  laughing, 
jesting,  scowling,  scolding,  wet  and  weary  specimens  of 
masculine  humanity. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"  YES,"  said  Evelyn,  in  reply  to  some  questions  kindly 
put  by  Colonel  Hesselten,  with  regard  to  his  wishes  as  to 
the  arrangements  indispensable  under  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  so  unexpectedly  and  painfully  involved — 
"  yes,  I  shall  bury  my  child  here.  It  seems  a  pleasant  and 
secluded  place ;  just  such  a  one  as  her  shrinking  love  of 
retirement  would  have  chosen.  Neither  Mrs.  Evelyn  nor 
myself  have  any  preference.  Her  friends  and  mine  all 
sleep  in  other  lands.  We  have  lived  in  no  place  long 
enough  for  Edith  to  have  formed  any  attachment  to  its 
localities ;  and  here,  where  she  was  directed  by  the  hand 
of  her  Heavenly  Father  to  breathe  out  her  life — here,  it  is 
my  wish  that  she  should  sleep  the  long  slumber  of  death. 
I  shall  leave  all  arrangements  in  the  hands  of  the  ladies.  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  customs  or  proprieties  on  such  occa- 
sions. They  will,  if  they  please,  act  as  they  act  for  each 
other." 

Under  the  skilful  and  delicate  supervision  of  Milly,  the 
simple  preparations  for  the  grave  were  soon  neatly  and 
tastefully  made  by  the  kind  hands  of  the  fair  girls  of  the 
village,  and  the  hapless  girl,  little  younger  than  themselves, 
so  strangely  cast  upon  their  care,  lay  in  her  cold,  unsullied 


62  SEA-SPRAY. 

loveliness,  sweetly  smiling,  in  the  snowy  drapery  in  which 
they  had  shrouded  her. 

The  fair  young  workers  stood  back,  for  the  father  and 
the  wan,  wild-looking  mother,  would  look  on  their  child. 
Ada  bent  over  the  fair  form,  but  no  wail  broke  from  her 
lips.  She  had  struggled  and  striven  to  keep  down  her 
agony.  Long  and  lovingly  did  they  gaze  on  the  cold, 
calm  brow,  and  sunny  and  shining  tresses  which  clustered 
over  it.  Ada  raised  a  silken  curl,  and  looked  wistfully 
around. 

"  It  has  been  done,"  said  a  soft,  trembling  voice  near 
her.  The  look  was  understood,  and  the  coveted  treasure 
was  silently  laid  in  her  hand. 

A  burst  of  uncontrollable  grief  shook  the  frame  of  the 
agonized  mother  ;  but  she  suppressed  her  groans,  and 
turned  in  wordless  misery  away. 

"  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away, 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,'  "  spoke  the  deep,  musical 
voice  of  Mr.  Alden,  as  Evelyn  and  Ada  turned  from  the 
couch  beside  which  they  had  been  standing.  Evelyn  ex- 
tended his  hand  silently,  to  meet  the  cordial  grasp  of  the 
clergyman. 

"  I  trust,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  "  you  can  say, 
'  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord,'  even  while  He  is  thus 
afflicting  you?" 

"  '  Though  He  slay  me,  still  will  1  trust  in  Him. 
Clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  Him ;  but  righteous- 
ness and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  His  throne,'  "  re- 
sponded Evelyn.  "  Yes,  I  can  say,  '  God  is  my  hope  and 
strength,  a  very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble.' " 

"  I  am  truly  rejoiced  to  find  you  so  well  supported  and 
comforted,"  remarked  Mr.  Alden.  "  It  is  right  and  natural 
to  mourn  the-  sundering  of  the  strong  ties  that  bind  us  so 


SEA-SPRAY.  63 

delightfully  to  this  life ;  but  I  am  certain,  the  first  sharp 
edge  of  this  keen  sorrow  a  little  blunted,  you  will  prove 
that  it  is  also  sweet  to  feel  how  strong  is  that  added  at- 
traction which  is  winning  your  thoughts  to  another.  It  is 
a  beautiful  idea,  which  I  have  seen  somewhere  expressed : 
'  They  only  have  always  a  child,  who  have  one  in  Heaven.' 
You  will  feel  this,  I  am  certain  you  will,  in  all  its  healing 
and  spiritualizing  blessedness.  I  trust  you  will  rest  and  be 
strengthened.  I  will  look  in  on  the  morrow,  and  I  do  ear- 
nestly hope  I  shall  find  you  refreshed  and  comfortable." 

"  1  thank  you,  dear  sir,  for  your  cordial  sympathy.  I 
trust  the  Lord  will  send  support  and  consolation.  'He 
healeth  those  that  are  broken  in  heart,  and  giveth  medi- 
cine to  heal  their  sickness.'  "We  cannot  be  wholly  deso- 
late with  such  promises  from  on  high,  and  such  sustaining 
and  sympathizing  kindness  around  us." 

The  good  pastor  took  his  leave  ;  and,  after  a  brief  pause 
over  the  motionless  form  of  her  who  last  night  gladdened 
them  with  her  mute  good-night  caress,  Evelyn  and  Ada 
sought  the  retirement  of  their  own  room,  and  mingled 
the  tears  they  sought  not  to  repress,  over  the  pillow  of  their 
sleeping  boy. 

"  Did  not  you  think  it  was  strange  they  did  not  ask  Mr. 
Alden  to  make  a  prayer  ?"  asked  one  of  the  young  ladies, 
who  had  volunteered  to  watch  by  the  lifeless  child  through 
the  night,  turning  to  her  friend,  who  was  the  chosen  com- 
panion of  her  vigils. 

"  I  heard  the  gentleman  ask  for  a  prayer-book,"  replied 
the  person  appealed  to.  "  Hark !  he  is  reading  now  in 
his  room  above." 

"  Yes.  They  are  the  sort,  then,  that  read  prayers,  and 
carry  their  religion  about  in  their  pockets.  Well,  they 


64  SEA-SPRAY. 

have  no  need  of  any  gift  that  way,  if  their  work  is  all 
done,  ready  for  them  ;  but  it  don't  seem  as  if  there  could 
be  much  spirit  in  such  cut  and  dried  prayers." 

"I  suppose  it  is  more  like  work,"  replied  the  companion. 
"  I've  always  heard  Church  of  England  folks  depended 
upon  works,  and  did  not  believe  in  conversions  or  any 
change  of  heart.  It  is  their  way,  and,  I  dare  say,  they 
think  it  is  the  right  way  ;  but  T  should  not  feel  as  if  it  was 
praying  to  read  printed  prayers  out  of  books." 

The  young  gentleman  who  was  to  share  with  them  the 
duty  of  watching,  now  came  in,  and  the  subject  of  printed 
prayers  and  gilt-edge  book  religion  was  discontinued. 

One  by  one,  those  who  had  come  in  to  render  such  as- 
sistance as  might  be  needed,  retired  to  their  homes.  Eve- 
lyn's packing-cases  had  been  forwarded  from  the  Beach  by 
De~Koven.  Dury  had  gone  to  stay  away  from  the  roof 
that  sheltered  the  dead,  and  the  Colonel  had  smoked  his 
pipe  on  her  seat  under  the  oven. 

Leena  and  Alice,  having  made  due  arrangements  for  the 
comfort  and  midnight  meal  of  the  "  watchers,"  had  retired 
to  their  own  room.  Allen  had  stretched  his  weary  limbs 
in  sleep,  and  silence  settled  over  the  household. 

Leena  and  Alice  drew  closely  to  the  decaying  embers  in 
their  private  apartment,  to  collect  their  thoughts  and  rest 
awhile  before  they  retired. 

"  What  strange,  unthought-of  events !  How  much  of  ex- 
citement has  been  crowded  into  the  little  space  of  time 
since  we  sat  here  last  night,  said  Alice,"  sinking  uneasily 
into  her  lounging-chair,  which  spread  its  broad  shelter  to 
receive  her. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  said  Leena,  in  reply,  "  when 
I  consider  how  little  I  have  felt.  I.  have  been  so  excited 


SEA-SPRAY.  65 

and  so  hurriedly  occupied,  that  I  have  had  no  time  to  think 
or  to  feel;  and  I  have  gone  through  with  it  all,  and  seen 
death  brought  in  at  our  doors  as  I  should  have  looked  on 
any  other  confusion  incident  to  business  ;  and  now  I  can 
go  to  bed  and  sleep,  knowing  that  our  roof  shelters  souls  so 
stricken  and  steeped  in  sorrow.  It  seems  so  heartlessly 
selfish  that  I  am  sick  of  myself." 

"  We  are  not  called  on  to  feel  deeply  all  the  sorrows 
which  duty  and  kindness  prompt  us  to  cheer  and  alleviate," 
replied  Alice.  "  This  would  be  a  miserable  state  of  trial, 
indeed,  if  we  felt  always  for  others  as  we  feel  for  ourselves. 
We  should  be  disqualified  for  relieving  or  assisting,  and  the 
world  would  be  one  disordered  scene  of  gloom  and  depres- 
sion. As  for  these  strangers,  we  shall  do,  cheerfully  and 
kindly,  all  we  can  to  console  them.  We  can't  feel  their 
bereavement  as  if  it  were  our  own." 

"  Well,  as  Mrs.  Melville  said,  we  have  undertaken  a  job. 
I  don't  know  how  we  shall  get  along  with  it,"  said  Leena, 
with  a  troubled,  disconsolate  look. 

"  The  Lord  has  put  this  work  into  our  hands,  and  he  will 
vouchsafe  strength  adequate  to  its  requirements.  We  shall 
get  through  with  it  well  enough,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt 
that  we  shall,"  replied  Alice,  cheerfully. 

So  they,  too,  retired,  and  sleep  soon  weighed  down  their 
eyelids. 

The  morrow  found  Earnest  and  Ada  both  unable  to  rise, 
weak,  unnerved,  and  feverish.  Evelyn  watched  over  them 
with  tearful  and  untiring  tenderness.  Sympathy  and  atten- 
tive kindness,  from  within  and  without,  surrounded  them  ; 
and  the  shrouded  girl  lay  waiting  the  coffin  and  the  grave. 

A  soft,  smiling  day  enabled  Hardy  and  De  Koven  to 
drive  on  their  unlading  operations  without  interruption  ;  and 

3* 


66  SEA-SPRAY. 

with  an  accession  of  laborers  from  the  little  villages  and 
hamlets  about  Sea-spray,  to  facilitate  and  expedite  the 
work,  the  ship  was  speedily  dismantled.  The  crew,  with 
the  exception  of  Lundy,  took  passage  on  the  cars  for  New- 
York,  and  the  passengers  followed  their  example. 

De  Koven  had  nerved  his  heart  for  the  dreaded  inter- 
view with  his  friends.  He  had  bent  his  lofty  brow  in  grief, 
over  the  shrouded  form  of  the  innocent  and  helpless  child, 
who  had  been,  from  her  infant  years,  his  favourite  playfel- 
low and  pet,  greeting  him,  in  her  sweet  language  of  ges- 
tures and  signs,  with  the  warmest  demonstrations  of  attach- 
ment, and  clinging  to  him  in  the  exuberance  of  her  child- 
like, unsyllabled  joy. 

"Evelyn,"  said  he,  wringing,  in  deep  emotion,  the  hand 
silently  extended  to  him — "  Evelyn,  I  have  no  words  to 
comfort  you.  You  know,  surely  you  do  know,  that  all  my 
heart  knows  of  love,  is>  for  you  and  yours.  I  can  mourn 
with  you  over  our  sweet  Edith,  but  I  cannot  say  aught  to 
soften  this  blow." 

"  There  is  comfort  and  soothing,  dear  De  Koven,  in  sym- 
pathy like  this ;  but  there  would  be  deep  and  abiding  joy  in 
my  heart,  could  I  teach  you  in  this  solemn  hour,  when  the 
shadow  of  death  is  lying  heavily  on  our  hearts,  to  look  for 
consolation  and  peace,  where,  only,  I  hope  ever  to  find  it. 
Think  of  it,  De  Koven,  for  her  sake,  whose  young  feet  has 
been  called  to  tread  the  dark  valley,  if  you  would  share 
with  me  the  hope  of  a  bles.ed  reunion  above." 

De  Koven  made  no  reply.  He  honored,  he  reverenced 
his  friend,  but  he  could  not  comprehend  the  deep,  sustain- 
ing, cheering  influences,  which  lived  and  spoke  in  his  un- 
faltering religious  faith.  After  a  brief  agitating  interview 
with  Ada  and  Ernest,  De  Koven  accompanied  his  friend  to 


SEA-SPRAY.  67 

the  grave-yard,  where,  after  a  melancholy  ramble,  they 
separated,  De  Koven  pursuing  his  way  to  the  Beach,  and 
Evelyn  returning  to  his  new  found  home. 

"  Ada,"  said  he,  gently,  as  he  stooped  caressingly  over 
her,  "  I  have  been  to  the  grave-yard — "  he  paused,  for  he 
expected  a  burst  of  wild  weeping  would  follow  this  remark  ; 
but  Ada  looked  composedly  up.  in  his  face,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded— "  I  have  selected  a  pleasant  spot  on  that  sunny 
hill-side,  where  our  lost  lamb  will  sleep  safely  her  long 
sleep.  I  have  found  her  a  place  by  the  side  of  those  who 
were  strangers,  like  herself:  the  lovely  young  mother,  in 
her  fresh  bridal  robes,  and  her  new  born  babe,  scarcely  lent 
for  a  day.  The  sunlight  will  shine  on  her  all  the  day  long, 
and  the  summer  birds  will  sing  in  the  green  branches  above 
her.  There  is  nothing  gloomy  to  me  in  the  aspect  of  the 
spot  where  we  are  led  by  our  Maker  to  lay  her.  You  will 
bear  it  submissively,  will  you  not,  dear  Ada  ?" 

Ada  bent  her  head  in  silence,  and  Evelyn  went  on. 

"  It  would  be  my  choice,  were  any  choice  left  me,    to 

have  the  service  of  our  own  church,  on  this  first  affliction 

•       ' 

in  our  little  domestic  world.  It  has  been  breathed  over  the 
silent  dust  of  all  who  were  dear  to  us.  The  blessed  and 
consoling  promises,  the  high  and  holy  hopes  of  resurrection 
and  reunion,  which  it  offers  and  inspires,  are  inexpressibly 
dear  to  me;  and  I  know  that  to  you,  Ada,  even  more  than 
to  me,  for  the  hallowed  associations  that  cling  to  it,  it 
would  be  particularly  gratifying  to  have  it  now.  I  have 
have  had  some  conversation  with  Mr.  Alden,  the  very  kind 
and  sympathizing  clergyman  of  this  parish.  He  tells  me 
there  is  a  pretty  little  church  in  the  village  of  Gosport, 
some  seven  miles  distant,  and  he  will  send  a  messenger  to 
aek  the  services  of  the  rector,  if  we  desire  it.  Mr.  Alden 


68  SEA-SPRAY. 

is  all  kindness  and  true  gentlemanly  courtesy.  Shall  we  ac- 
cept his  offer,  Ada,  or  shall  we  bury  our  child  according  to 
the  usages  of  the  parish  and  people  among  whom  we  place 
her  ?" 

Ada  started,  as  if  from  a  dream.  The  closing  remarks 
of  her  husband  had  fallen  on  an  unheeding  ear  ;  her  thoughts 
had  been  far  away,  with  Another  people,  and  in  another 
land.  She  listened,  with  a  shuddering  sigh,  as  he  repeated 
what  he  had  been  saying,  and  replied,  with  an  indifference 
which  pained  and  surprised  him — 

"  As  you  please,  Walter — I  have  little  choice  ;"  then 
lapsed  again  into  silence,  while  Evelyn  paced  the  apart- 
ment, wounded,  and  wondering  at  her  mood. 

After  a  short  time  spent  in  silent  self-communing,  Eve- 
lyn drew  his  chair  to  the  bed-side  of  Ernest,  and,  laying  his 
head  on  the  pillow,  beside  the  soft  locks  of  the  gentle  child, 
talked  softly  and  soothingly,  and  of  peaceful  and  pleasant 
things,  meeting  looks  and  tones  of  grateful  and  affectionate 
interest  from  the  loving  and  pure-hearted  boy. 

Evelyn  felt  unaccountably  repelled  by  the  demeanor  of 
Ada.  He  could  not  understand  the  cold  indifference  with 
which  she  had  shut  her  heart  against  his,  and  withheld  her 
sympathy  in  this  trying  hour.  He  could  not  acknowledge 
to  his  thoughts  that  Ada  was  selfish.  The  thought,  so  pain- 
ful, nevertheless  had  often  presented  itself,  but  he  put  it 
shrinkingly  away.  He  would  not  willingly  give  it  harbor ; 
but  it  rose  stronger  now — now,  when  its  presence  was  most 
gallingly  unwelcome. 

It  was  true,  if  he  would  not  see  it.  Ada  was  purely 
selfish ;  unconsciously,  but  unmistakably  devoted  to  self. 
Beautiful,  very  beautiful,  she  unquestionably  was;  gentle, 
loving,  sweet-tempered,  yet  making  herself  weapons  of  her 


SEA-SPBAY.  69 

weakness,  she  was  capricious,  self-willed  and  exacting  in 
her  soft  and  smiling  helplessness. 

Vain,  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  of  the  power  of  her  fairy 
and  fragile  loveliness;  vain,  too,  of  the  deep,  elevated  love 
of  the  noble  heart  that  loveliness  had  won,  she  cast  herself 
with  selfish  inefficiency  upon  his  care.  Yet  she  loved,  with 
all  the  warmth  of  her  nature,  her  husband  and  her  children 
— seeking  no  enjoyment,  loving  no  pursuits,  cherishing  no 
affections,  and  knowing  no  pleasures  of  which  they  were 
not  the  objects  and  sharers.  Still,  there  was  something 
shut  up  in  her  heart,  which  Evelyn  could  not  solve  ;  and, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  fancied  or  feared,  he  felt — dis- 
guise from  himself  with  whatever  self-deluding  skill  he 
might — he  felt  sometimes  a  sickening  conviction,  that,  in 
the  secret  recesses  of  her  heart,  there  was  hidden  that  he 
might  not  reach  and  read. 

Another  day  had  passed.  Another  night  had  closed  in, 
with  its  silence  and  shadows,  and  still  the  shrouded  girl  lay 
waiting  the  coffin  and  the  grave.  Another  night  the  gentle- 
hearted  young  maidens  of  Sea-spray  kept  their  vigils  over 
her,  and  another  morning  walked  blushingly  over  the  sea. 
The  day  glided  on.  The  last  arrangements,  so  appalling 
in  their  details  to  the  quivering  hearts  of  those  who  mourn, 
were  completed.  The  coffin  had  opened  its  bosom  for  its 
silent  occupant,  and  the  last  dreaded  hour  drew  nigh. 
Alone  in  their  anguish,  the  parents  had  looked  for  the  last 
time  on  their  first  blighted  bud,  and  the  brother  had  shed 
his  last  scalding  tears  on  the  brow  of  his  childhood's  mate. 
The  lid  was  screwed  down,  shutting  out  the  blessed  sun- 
shine from  that  sweet,  pale  face,  forever !  The  soft  tones 
of  the  little  church  bell  tolled  out  on  the  calm,  clear  air. 
Oh,  the  bruised,  and  bleeding,  and  broken  hearts  that  have 


70  SEA-SPRAY. 

shivered  and  swelled  in  their  suffocating  sorrow,  at  the 
sound  of  that  dear  old  bell,  since  first  its  silvery  voice  called 
its  hearers  to  worship  or  to  weep !  Oh,  the  unmitigated 
anguish,  the  amount  of  sorrow  and  misery,  beyond  all  sum- 
ming up,  that  during  those  long  two  centuries  has  been  en- 
dured and  forgotten,  within  hearing  of  its  solemn  tongue! 

So  the  little  procession  moved  on  ;  for,  in  simple,  sweet 
Sea-spray,  it  was  still  the  custom  for  all  "  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  men,"  from  childhood  to  age,  to  follow  the  remains 
of  the  departed  to  the  narrow  home  on  the  hill. 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord ;  he 
that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live, 
and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  rne  shall  never  die," 
rose  on  the  still,  wintry  air,  as  the  sweet,  clear,  ringing 
voice  of  the  young  rector  proceeded  with  the  burial  ser- 
vice, in  all  its  impressive  and  solemn  grandeur. 

The  last  rite  was  over ;  the  last  service  the  living  can 
render  to  the  dead,  was  finished.  The  coffin  was  hidden 
forever  from  the  streaming  eyes  that  followed  it,  and  Edith 
Evelyn  slept  in  her  little  grave,  by  the  shore  of  the  sound- 
ing sea! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CALM,  bright  sunny  days  succeeded  each  other,  and  the 
bustling-,  energetic  wreck-master  drove  on  his  men  with 
untiring  and  vigilant  zeal,  plunging  at  once  into  the  thick- 
est of  the  business  ;  and,  lavishly  expending  his  own  strength 
wherever  a  vigorous  effort  or  a  bold  struggle  was  most 
needed,  he  accomplished  an  inconceivable  amount  of  work 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time. 

With  a  jest  here,  and  a  jerk  there,  a  kick  in  one  place, 
and  a  cuff  in  another,  he  kept  his  laborers  all  brisk  and 
lively,  sometimes  laughing  at  his  sallies  of  humor,  and 
sometimes  dodging  from  his  impending  wrath.  It  was 
amusement  for  De  Koven,  in  his  lighter  moods,  to  lounge 
on  the  Beach,  and  watch  the  curious  assemblage  as  they 
shifted  their  grouping,  presenting  an  endless  variety  of 
phases  and  aspects. 

The  "  wreck"  was  the  grand  attraction  for  all  the  idle 
and  the  curious,  for  many  miles  ;  and  carriages,  horsemen, 
and  pedestrians  lined  the  Beach  in  its  vicinity,  at  all  hours 
of  the  day.  Ladies  rode  or  walked  down,  to  look  on  for 
awhile,  and  talk  a  little  nonsense  with  the  courteous  bache- 
lor wreck-master. 

Gentlemen  of  leisure  strolled  on  the  Beach,  to  lounge 
away  an  unoccupied  hour  and  pick  up  a  little  racy  gossip, 


72  SEA-SPRAY. 

or  listen  to  the  sly  jokes  and  quaint  remarks  of  the  men  at 
their  work.  Speculators  from  afar  came  there,  on  keen 
look-out  for  bargains,  and  school-boys  and  children  to 
frolic  in  the  sand,  and  get  wet  in  the  waves  for  nothing. 
De  Koven  had  thrown  himself  down  one  morning,  in  a 
little  sunny  cave  between  two  sheltering  sand-banks,  and 
was  listlessly  watching  the  movements  among  the  busy 
operatives  about  the  wreck,  when  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  figure,  whose  grotesque  elongation  of  limb 
seemed  only  equaled  by  the  breadth  of  the  pedal  and 
digital  members  by  which  they  were  terminated.  He  was 
garbed  in  a  blue  carter's  frock,  descending  to  his  ankles  in 
front,  but  much  curtailed  of  its  "  fair  proportions"  behind  ; 
and  he  jerked  his  long  limbs  with  a  shambling,  uneasy 
movement,  as  if  they  had  undergone  a  partial  dislocation 
at  the  hips.  He  was  brandishing  a  heavy  wagoner's  whip, 
and  giving  angry  utterance  to  sundry  long-winded  vitupe- 
rative denunciations  of  punishment,  for  the  benefit  of  a 
cowering  and  frightened-looking  boy,  who  was  standing  in 
silent  awe  before  him. 

"  Come,  come,  Lummux !"  said  Hardy,  who  chanced  at 
that  moment  to  be  passing  near,  "  what's  the  row  here  ? 
Down  with  your  lash.  I  claim  the  privilege  of  doing  all 
the  flogging  in  this  beat.  What's  the  boy  been  at  now,  in 
the  name  of  mischief?" 

"  What's  he  been  at !  Why,  he's  been  bringing  disgrace 
on  a  respectable  family  :  he's  been  stealing,  he  has." 

"  He  has,  Lummux  ?  That's  a  bad  propensity,  to  be  sure  ; 
I  hope  it  isknot  one  of  his  father's,"  said  Hardy,  with  a  quiet, 
quizzical  expression,  a  sort  of  grave  enjoyment  of  a  joke 
wriggling  along  the  curve  of  his  nose. 

"One  of  his  father's  propensities!     To  be  sure  it  is. 


SEA-SPEAT.  73 

Ain't  I  driv  him  to  meetin',  and  whipped  him  to  Sunday- 
school,  and  tried  to  distil  it  into  him?" 

"  But,  what  has  he  stolen  ?"  asked  Hardy,  with  unmoved 
gravity. 

"  This  !"  thundered  Lummux,  braying  his  speech  with  a 
trumpet-like  twang  through  his  pinched,  purple  and  quiv- 
ering nasal  organ,  as  he  presented,  to  De  Koven's  astonish- 
ment, .the  pocket-book  .which  Lundy  had  so  unceremo- 
niously committed  to  the  waves. 

"  I  niver  stole  it,  so,  now,"  said  the  boy,  boldly.  "  I 
found  it  iver  so  furd  off  to  the  eastard,  on  the  Beach ;  and 
I  niver  stoled  it,  I  didn't." 

"  What  did  you  keep  it  for,  when  you  knowed  twant 
yourn?"  again  roared  the  enraged  giant. 

"  Oh,  the  boy  did  not  consider,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  who 
had  come  up  during  the  uproar.  "  It  was  but  a  very  par- 
donable delinquency  in  such  a  lad.  If  he  restores  it  now 
to  its  owner,  he  is  not  so  very  reprehensible." 

"That's  what  I've  especially  tried  to  beat  into  him; 
and  I've  told  him,  immediately  and  immediately,  to  mind 
mydelinkinces  and  behave  himself  reprehensible.  But  I'll 
catechize  him  soundly  for  this,"  said  he,  raising  his  whip, 
while  the  boy  sunk  back  skulking  behind  the  listeners,  who 
had  gathered  round,  in  great  amusement,  to  hear  the  un- 
pronounceable words  which  Lummux  was  fambus  for 
using. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  my  gentle  giant,"  said 
De  Koven,  coming  forward.  "  The  article  in  dispute  is 
mine.  Here,  Lundy,  come  out  and  tell  this  man  of  pro- 
pensities how  all  this  happened,  and  clear  up  this  muss, 
which  is  the  result  of  your  rash  casting  of  cash  on  the 
waters." 

So,  while  Lundy  told  such  part  of  the  tale  as  served  the 


74  SEA-SPRAY. 

purpose,  De  Koven  called  the  boy  to  him,  and,  sitting 
down  on  the  sand,  entered  into  pleasant  discourse,  and 
drew  from  him  the  story  of  his  finding  and  fancying  that 
he  had  a  right  to  appropriate  to  his  own  use  what  he  con- 
sidered so  great  a  treasure. 

"  And  so,  your  father  does  put  the  strap  on  sometimes," 
said  De  Koven,  kindly. 

"  Sometimes,  when  he  wants  to  make  a  bluster,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  And  he  gives  you  good  advice  too,  and  teaches  you 
what  is  right,  I  suppose  ?"  continued  De  Koven. 

"  No,  he  don't ;  he  talks  long-winded  yarns,  and  crooked 
words,  sometimes,  but  I  don't  know  no  good  as  they  does," 
said  the  boy,  sullenly. 

"  Well  now,  if  I  give  you  this,  what  use  will  you  make 
of  it  ?"  said  De  Koven,  showing  him  a  bright,  golden 
coin. 

"  I'll  give  it  to  mother,  right  straight  off,"  said  the  boy, 
with  a  brightening  eye. 

"  Why  will  you  give  it  to  her?"  asked  De  Koven,  with 
some  curiosity  as  to  the  promptings  of  the  untutored  boy. 

"  'Cause,  you  see,  she's  bin  sick,  and  couldn't  do  no  work, 
nor  arn  nothin',  and  it'll  git  iver  so  many  nice  things  to 
help  her  along,"  said  the  boy,  earnestly,  as  his  fingers 
closed  eagerly  over  the  half  eagle  De  Koven  placed  in  his 
hand. 

"  There's  a  good  spirit  in  you,  my  brave  fellow,"  said  De 
Koven,  patting  him  kindly  on  the  shoulder — "  there's  a  good 
spirit  in  you.  It  should  be  encouraged,  not  brutalized  and 
destroyed  by  flogging.  I  guess  I  must  take  you  to  sea,  and 
make  a  man  of  you." 

"  You  don't  approve  of  using  the  rod,  I  infer  ?"  said  Mr. 


SEA-SPRAY.  75 

Alden,  who  had  witnessed  the  little  by-play  between  De 
Koven  and  the  young  finder  of  the  pocket-book. 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not.  I  believe  it  has  crushed  or  perverted 
more  spirits  than  it  ever  reclaimed  or  curbed,  making  more 
sneaking,  cringing  rascals,  or  desperate,  vindictive  devils, 
than  anything  beside ;  teaching  servile  subserviency,  un- 
der fear  of  punishment,  when  it  were  easier  to  induce  high 
and  ennobling  effort,  and  honest  aspirations  after  the  true 
and  the  good,  by  winning  first,  by  generous  forbearance, 
the  confiding  and  grateful  affection  of  those  we  would  serve 
and  save.  You  say  truly,  I  do  not  advocate  the  use  of  the 
rod.  I  would  rather  have  the  love  than  the  fear  of  the 
humblest  heart." 

"  But  Solomon,  you  know,  says  '  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil 
the  child  ;'  you  would  not  gainsay  his  wisdom  ?"  said  Mr. 
Alden,  good  humoredly. 

"  But  I  would  take  it  with  a  qualification,"  replied  De 
Koven,  laughing.  "  Solomon  is  called  a  wise  man — the 
wisest  of  men,  but  on  some  points  I  cannot  but  question  his 
wisdom.  Among  his  great  army  of  female  felicities,  there 
must  have  been  great  varieties  of  temper,  and  diversities 
of  character,  and  endless  clashings  of  interests,  with  squab- 
blings,  and  bickerings,  and  cabalings,  which,  as  he  must 
of  course  have  been  umpire,  would  have  sorely  tried  the 
old  gentleman's  patience.  Might  it  not  be,  that  the  wise 
king,  in  such  a  predicament,  would  sometimes  have  recom- 
mended to  the  shoulders  of  the  child,  the  rod  he  would  glad- 
ly have  wielded  for  the  benefit  of  the  mother?" 

"  Possibly,  possibly  it  might  have  been  as  you  suggest," 
replied  the  good  pastor,  sending  a  discreet  little  clerical 
laugh  up  the  unbuttoned  cuff  of  his  black  coat.  "  I  do  not 
dispute  your  commentary,  but  really,  I  don't  recollect  to 


76  SEA-SPRAY. 

have  seen  such  an  exposition  of  the  passage  in  any  of  the 
Fathers." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  replied  De  Koven,  demurely.  "  But  I 
have  not  sailed  much  among  the  Fathers  ;  my  business  has 
not  called  me  into  those  high  latitudes." 

"  Very  true,  very  true  ;  but  if  you  will  look  sometimes, 
a  little  oftener,  perhaps,  than  you  do,  my  young  friend, 
carefully  and  prayerfully  into  that  Blessed  Book,  I  will  not 
insist  upon  your  searching  out  the  comments  the  Fathers 
have  made  upon  it,"  said  the  clergyman,  laying  his  hand 
with  impressive  earnestness  upon  the  arm  of  his  com- 
panion. 

"  I  will  make  no  promises  I  may  not  keep,  but  I  thank 
you  for  your  kind  interest.  I  feel  that  I  have  been  too 
careless,  and  that  your  suggestion  was  needed,"  replied  De 
Koven,  with  a  tone  of  sadness  in  his  words,  and  they 
walked  on. 

They  sauntered  leisurely  along  on  the  wet  sand,  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  inheaving  wave,  and  chatted  pleasantly 
of  many  things.  Recent  events  had  cast  a  softening 
shadow  over  De  Koven's  mood,  naturally  buoyant  and  joy- 
ous, so  that,  without  being  gloomy,  he  was  somewhat  sad, 
and  his  thoughts  flowed  in  a  deeper  and  more  meditative 
channel.  Sympathy  with  the  sorrow  of  Evelyn,  to  whom 
he  was  strongly  attached,  had  a  powerful  influence  in  pro- 
ducing this  unwonted,  and  (as  he  thought)  womanish  feel- 
ing. He  saw,  with  the  quick  and  intuitive  perception  of 
love,  that  his  friend  was  unhappy ;  and  that  a  cause  more 
corroding  than  natural  grief  for  his  recent  loss  was  wring- 
ing his  heart.  It  could  not  be  anxiety  and  alarm,  now 
painfully  awakened,  with  regard  to  the  frail  and  evidently 
failing  health  of  his  boy,  for  of  that  he  spoke  often  and 


SEA-SPRAY.  77 

openly.  It  could  not  be  the  nervous  and  sensitive  delica- 
cy of  Ada,  for  that  was  no  new  source  of  disquietude,  and 
of  that,  too,  he  spoke  unreservedly. 

"  Have  you  seen  much  of  the  Evelyns,  since  the  burial 
of  their  child  ?"  he  asked,  of  Mr.  Alden. 

"  I  have  seen  them  several  times,"  replied  Mr.  Alden. 
"  By  the  way,  Captain  De  Koven,  is  there  not  something  a 
little  wild  and  unsettled  about  Mrs.  Evelyn  ?  You,  of 
course,  know  her  better  than  I  can,  but  it  has  struck  me 
very  forcibly  more  than  once." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have-  mentioned  it,  for  I  have  been  pon- 
dering the  subject  rather  painfully,"  replied  De  Koven.  "  It 
is  many  months  since  I  have  seen  her,  until  my  recent 
meeting  with  her  in  Boston,  and  I  was  unpleasantly  im- 
pressed by  her  abrupt  and  startled  air.  More  particularly 
since  Edith's  death,  her  language  is  wild,  her  manner  either 
cold,  haughty,  and  imperious,  or  silent,  subdued,  and  tear- 
ful, and  her  whole  deportment  unaccountably  changed.  It 
is  evident  to  me  that  Evelyn  sees  it,  arid  that  it  makes  him 
very  wretched.  I  can't  understand  it.  She  certainly 
loves  and  reverences  her  husband,  and  yet  she  evidently 
quails  before  his  eye,  and  shrinks  at  his  approach.  What 
can  it  mean  ?" 

"  It  is  probably  the  effect  of  sorrow  on  a  nervous  and 
excitable  temperament.  I  can  assign  no  other  cause,"  re- 
plied the  clergyman. 

"  Think  you,  Mr.  Alden,  that  the  heart  knows  no  oppres- 
sion more  bitter  than  sorrow  ?"  asked  De  Koven,  thought- 
fully, and  hesitatingly  propounding  his  question. 

The  clergyman  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met,  with  a 
mutual  expression  of  meaning. 

"  Yes !  sin,"  said  he,  quietly. 


78  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  have  betrayed  myself  into  giving  utterance  to  a 
thought  I  was  hardly  conscious  I  was  harboring,"  said  the 
young  man,  coloring ;  "  but,  since  I  have  done  so,  I  scarcely 
wish  to  recall  it.  I  am  about  to  leave  this  place  soon,  and 
1  feel  it  would  be  pleasant  to  know  that  there  is  some  one 
to  whose  kindness  I  can,  in  some  measure,  commit  them. 
Understand  me ;  in  Walter  Evelyn  I  have  the  most  perfect 
and  unqualified  confidence — the  most  implicit  reliance  on 
his  purity  as  a  Christian,  his  principles  as  a  man,  and  his 
untarnished  honor  as  a  gentleman.  It  is  only  her  own 
wild  talk  that  has  shaken  my  trust  in  her,  and  my  greatest 
fear  really  is,  that  this  may  be  the  foreshadowing  of  inci- 
pient insanity.  Terrible,  indeed,  would  such  a  trial  be  to 
Evelyn." 

"  Let  us  trust  that  '  as  his  day,  so  shall  his  strength  be,'  " 
replied  Mr.  Alden. 

"  Will  you  dine,  gentlemen  ?"  said  Hardy,  jocosely,  as 
they  drew  near  the  rough  little  building  erected  on  the 
Beach  for  the  convenience  of  the  "  Seine  Company,"  when 
pursuing  their  fishing  or  other  sea-shore  avocations. 

The  workmen  had  suspended  their  labors  for  a  time,  and 
were  seated  in  groups  at  short  distances  one  from  another, 
each  having  catered  for  himself  as  he  best  could.  Stand- 
ing by  a  superannuated  cooking-stove,  within  the  house, 
Hardy  was  presiding  over  the  concoction  of  a  huge  pot  of 
coffee. 

"  So  you  sacrifice  to  the  '  Lares'  in  here,  Hardy,"  said 
De  Koven,  as  he  put  his  head  in  the  door- way.  "  Well, 
the  odor  of  your  incense  is  not  unsavory." 

"Walk  in,  gentlemen — walk  in,  and  take  wreckers' 
cheer,"  said  Hardy,  as  he  busied  himself  in  unpacking  his 
dinner. 


SEA-SPRAY.  79 

"  I  prefer  standing  without,  among  the  worshippers  of 
the  gentle  Penates.     I  wish  to  see  how  they  receive  hom- 
age," said  De  Koven,  laughingly.     "Are  you  sure  ther 
are  no  wicked  '  Larvse'  lurking  in  the  spray,  to  snuff  up 
this  steaming  incense  ?" 

"  I  think  you  will  find,  among  the  '  Lares'  of  Sea-spray, 
the  most  prominent  and  devoutly  honored  idol  in  the  shape 
of  a  tin  coffee-pot,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  falling  in  easily  with 
De  Koven's  rattling  nonsense.  "  I  always  find  it,  in  my 
calls  on  my  parishioners,  any  time  from  eleven  to  one 
o'clock,  of  all  the  household  gods  the  most  conspicuous, 
occupying  its  pedestal,  and  the  smoke  of  the  incense  con- 
tinually ascending.  By  the  way,  1  am  not  certain  that  the 
tin  divinity  of  my  own  household  is  not  now  waiting  impa- 
tiently in  its  niche,  so  I  will  bid  you  good  morning." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  the  good  natured  clergy- 
man turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  hurriedly  homeward, 
while  De  Koven  entered  into  conversation  with  Hardy,  on 
matters  pertaining  to  the  ship  and  her  cargo.  After  hav- 
ing shared  with  Hardy  his  meal  in  the  hut,  De  Koven 
walked  down  with  him  among  the  bustling  operatives,  who 
were  rolling  casks  and  bales,  and  battling  with  the  surf. 

"  You  have  done  wonders,  Hardy.  So  you  are  really 
sanguine  in  the  faith  that  my  poor  craft  will  float  again  ?" 

"  I  see  nothing  to  hinder,  if  the  weather  favors.  She's 
lightened  of  every  thing  now ;  the  last  lighter  will  have 
her  freight  stowed,  and  be  off  before  sunset,  and  we  are 
ready  to  apply  our  forces  at  once.  The  weather  has  been 
almost  without  a  parallel  for  mildness  and  calmness,  and 
the  ship  has  lain  very  easy.  1  don't  think  she  has  been 
strained  very  severely.  Yes,  it  is  my  belief  we  shall  get 
her  off." 


80  SEA-SPEAY. 

All  Hardy  had  said  was  exactly  true.  With  that  promp- 
titude in  action  for  which,  in  the  little  world  of  Sea-spray, 
he  was  proverbial,  he  had  communicated  with  the  insu- 
rance offices  which  were  interested  in  the  property,  and 
having  been  at  once  known  as  their  accredited  agent,  he 
had  set  about  the  business  in  hand  with  his  usual  sturdy 
self-reliance;  and,  meeting  no  obstacles  beyond  his  power 
to  remove,  and  brooking  no  interference  from  meddling 
officiousness  in  any  quarter,  he  had  brought  things  on  thus 
far  toward  a  prosperous  issue.  A  few  hours  more  of  mild 
weather,  and  the  fate  of  the  good  ship  Orphan  would  cease 
to  be  a  question  of  doubt. 

De  Koven  moved  about  on  the  Beach  restlessly.  He 
began  to  feel  nervous,  for  his  feelings  were  deeply  inte- 
rested, independent  of  all  pecuniary  considerations,  in  the 
event  of  the  attempt  about  to  be  made. 

The  ship,  which  lay  in  its  naked  helplessness  where,  in 
darkness  and  tempest,  misguidance  had  stranded  her,  had 
been  his  home  since  his  earliest  manhood.  It  had  been  one 
of  the  last  acts  of  his  father's  careful  affection  to  watch  the 
progress  of  her  construction,  and  to  lavish  on  her  finish  and 
decorations  every  thing  that  could  add  to  her  beauty,  or 
enhance  her  value.  But  he  did  not  live  to  see  the  com- 
pletion, dying  suddenly  a  short  time  previous  to  her  launch- 
ing— an  overwhelming  affliction — to  which  was  attributable 
De  Koven's  sad  appropriation  of  a  name  belonging  at  once 
to  the  ship  and  her  master — "  The  Orphan" — as  indeed  he 
was,  alone,  save  the  faithful  and  unflinching  Lundy,  know- 
ing and  claiming  no  tie  of  kindred  with  any  human  being ; 
and,  with  the  exception  of  the  Evelyns,  having  no  strong 
friendships,  it  was  not  strange  that  he  was  sometimes  reck- 
less, and  often  wayward.  It  was  not  strange  that,  spend- 


SEA-SPRAY.  81 

ing  his  life  as  he  had  done,  on  the  ocean,  in  the  constant 
contemplation  of  all  the  wonders  of  that  most  stupendous 
of  God's  wonderful  works,  he  should  have  much  imagina- 
tive, poetical,  reverential,  religious  feeling,  without  any 
established  orthodox  religious  faith  ;  that  he  should  make 

the  winds  and  the  waves,  the  elements  in  which  he  lived 
/  7 

and  moved,  his  mediums  of  worship ;  that  he  should  learn 
fear  from  their  stormy  grandeur,  and  relying  love  from 
their  solemn  beauty. 

He  had,  then,  a  system  of  spiritual  ethics  which  satisfied 
himself.  He  was  prettily  and  poetically  religious,  with  all 
intellectual  and  sentimental  refinements,  without  being 
scripturally  or  practically  pious ;  but  he  was  good,  noble, 
generous,  conscientious  in  the  discharge  of  every  duty  to 
his  kind :  scrupulous,  morbidly  so,  with  regard  to  gentle- 
manly honor  in  all  his  transactions  with  men.  Pure  in  his 
morals,  strictly  taintless  and  temperate  in  his  habits,  he  of- 
fered a  splendid  foundation  on  which  to  rear  the  superstruc- 
ture of  a  holier,  happier  faith. 

The  last  article  had  been  secured,  and  the  last  lighter 
spread  her  canvas  to  the  breeze.  A  long,  loud  cheer  went 
up  from  the  Beach,  and  was  answered  from  her  deck  as 
she  glided  away. 

"  Not  a  speck  nor  a  splinter  ! — not  a  rope's-end  left ! — 
everything  swept  up  clean  !  Hard  times  for  poor  folks 
such  racks  as  this.  I  'spect  they'll  git  the  hull  ofF  too,  and 
there'll  be  no  chance  at  that,"  spoke  a  gruff,  growling,  dis- 
contented voice  in  the  crowd,  as  the  lighter  stood  on  her 
way.  De  Koven  turned  in  amused  surprise  to  look  on  the 
speaker. 

"  Ye  powers,  what  a  capital  to  surmount  such  a  column !" 
he  exclaimed,  to  Hardy,  who  was  standing  near,  and  had 

4 


82  SEA-SPKAY. 

heard  the  characteristic  remark  of  the  disappointed  expec- 
tant of  "perquisites,"  not  "plunder."  Hardy  laughed. 

"  Our  friend  Gulchen  does  but  speak  the  sentiments  of 
more  men  than  himself,  who  are  not  satisfied  with  liberal 
wages  for  their  time,  but  expect  to  find  a  great  amount  of 
floating  "  treasure  trove"  besides — odds  and  ends,  stoved 
barrels  and  burst  bales,  torn  canvas,  and  chafed  rigging, 
and  broken  cabin  furniture,  kegs,  kettles,  and  cans — any- 
thing and  everything  that  is  not  worth  freight  or  deck- 
room.  He  says  true  :  we  have  made  a  clean  sweep  this 
time.  Well,  it  is  a  hard  service,  and  they  do  earn  good 
pay,  and  they  always  get  it.  It  is  the  lookers-on,  not  the 
active  laborers,  that  grumble." 

"It  is  hard  service,"  replied  De  Koven.  "  I  have  been 
surprised  to  see  how  kindly  these  men  take  to  the  water. 
I  thought  you  were  all  cultivators  of  the  soil." 

"  Oh,  we  are  an  amphibious  race,  sometimes  cawing 
with  the  crows  upon  the  corn,  and  sometimes  with  the 
sharks,  preying  upon  the  little  fishes ;  but  we  like  this 
shore  work,  and  we  avail  ourselves  of  all  opportunities  and 
excuses — whaling,  fishing,  and,  if  occasion  offers,  wrecking, 
for  a  frolic  in  the  surf.  You  have  seen  that  we  take  it  all 
very  coolly." 

"  Coolly,  indeed,"  said  De  Koven,  shivering,  "  working 
up  to  the  armpits  in  the  sea^in  December !  My  teeth  chat- 
ter, sailor  though  I  am,  to  think  of  it.  But,  truly,  you  have 
done  up  this  work  bravely." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he's  well  enough  pleased  ;  you  no  need  to 
tell  him  on't.  He's  'cute  enough  for  rich  folks,  but  he 
makes  dry  rackin'  for  us,  poor,  hard  workin'  men.  Don't 
help  them  much  such  racks  as  this  ;  I  would  not  thank  a 
body  for  sich  a  one  once  a  week.  The  capun's  a  bachelor. 


SEA-SPKAY.  83 

I  reckon,  if  he  had  to  find  vittJes  for  a  woman  and  two  or 
three  young  ones,  he'd  find  'twas  hard  scratchin' :"  and  the 
speaker  looked  sour  and  dissatisfied,  while  De  Koven  lis- 
tened in  undisguised  amusement. 

He  was  a  rare  specimen  of  Sea-spray  statuary — a  short, 
square,  dumpy  block,  surmounted  by  a  capital  at  which  De 
Koven  might  well  exclaim,  "  ye  powers !" — a  skull,  before 
whose  capacious  frontal  developments  the  magnificent  brow 
of  Daniel  Webster  would  have  dwindled  into  insignifi- 
cance ;  under  which  gleamed  a  pair  of  little,  restless  gray 
eyes,  deep  set,  and  overshadowed  by  shaggy  gray  eye- 
brows ;  while  on  either  side  spread  certain  assinine  appen- 
dages to  which  the  most  potent  of  Elfland  spells  could 
hardly  have  rendered  Titania  oblivious. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  De  Koven,  "  that  Hardy  has  not 
afforded  you  better  pickings.  There  will,  perhaps,  be  a 
change  of  administration  before  long,  and  then  you  must 
try  and  get  him  removed.  Perhaps  you  will  be  able  to 
have  some  one  appointed  in  his  place,  who  will  have  more 
sympathy  with  your  very  reasonable  complaints,  and  a 
more  indulgent  eye  to  your  interests.  Meantime,  don't 
feel  discouraged ;  the  next  shipwreck  may  be  attended  with 
more  disastrous  results.  It  is  your  duty  to  hope  for  the 
best,  at  all  events." 

The  Relief  schooner  was  busy  in  her  operations,  ma- 
noeuvring with  great  caution  and  skill  to  bring  her 
powerful  means  and  appliances  to  bear  on  the  ship.  De 
Koven  was  fidgety  and  nervously  anxious,  so  Hardy  pro- 
posed that  they  should  go  up  to  the  village  and  get  tea, 
and  return  with  some  preparations  for  a  comfortable 
bivouac  in  the  hut,  that  they  might  witness  the  proceed- 
ings, and  have  the  earliest  possible  knowledge  of  their 
result. 


84:  SEA- SPRAY. 

"  Lundy,"  said  Hardy,  "  we  shan't  have  you  on  the 
Beach  to-night,  for  you  are  feverish  now.  You  must  stay 
at  home  and  spin  a  yarn  for  the  women,  and  they  in  re- 
turn shall  give  you  a  bowl  of  hot  gruel  and  a  warm  bed." 

Lundy  began  to  put  in  a  demurrer,  but  De  Koven  de- 
cided the  question  at  once,  saying  he  intended  to  pass  the 
night  in  the  hut  with  Hardy,  and  there  would  be  no  room. 
"  Besides,"  continued  he,  "  Hardy  is  going  to  give  me  the 
history  of  all  his  love  affairs,  and  our  conversation  will  be 
strictly  confidential." 

After  a  refreshing  meal,  and  an  hour's  lounging  over  a 
crackling  fire,  they  took  their  way  once  more  to  the  Beach, 
with  an  accumulation  of  wrappers,  and  a  basket  of  sundry 
delicious  meats  and  appetising  condiments,  with  which  to 
while  away  the  hours  of  their  self-imposed  watch.  After 
kindling  a  fire  in  the  old  stove,  they  strolled  out  and  along 
the  Beach,  watching  the  schooner  in  her  various  manoeu- 
vres, and  talking  of  business  arrangements  made  and  to  be 
made. 

"  Do  you  believe,  Hardy,  that  man  with  the  ears  did 
speak  the  thoughts  of  any  one  but  himself?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  did.  In  every  community  there  is  a 
class  of  men  who  make  it  their  business  to  prey  upon  their 
fellows.  Of  course  Sea-spray  is  not  exempt ;  neither  is  she 
peculiar  in  that  particular.  Daring,  open-handed  villainy 
is  not  known  among  us.  We  are  a  peaceable,  inoffensive 
people  ;  rioting  and  brawling  are  not  among  our  easily  be- 
setting sins,  and  the  most  extensive  robberies  we  have  to 
fear,  do  not  extend  beyond  the  taking  a  pair  of  fowls  from 
the  perch,  a  ham  from  the  smoke-house,  or  a  pair  of  stock- 
ings or  a  shirt  from  the  bleaching  ground.  Our  greatest 
annoyances  are  from  little,  sneaking,  petty  rascalities,  too 


SEA-SPEAY.  85 

contemptible  for  the  cognizance  of  law.  But,  take  us  all 
together,  we  are  a  God-fearing,  law-abiding,  honest  little 
nest  of  hornets." 

"  I  believe  you — I  do  earnestly  believe  you — and  I  shall 
always  think  the  better  of  mankind  for  your  sakes.  What 
a  beautiful  night !" 

Well,  indeed,  might  he  say  so.  The  moon  was  shining  as 
none  but  a  Sea-spray  moon  ever  did  or  could  shine,  send- 
ing down,  over  sea  and  shore,  her  sparkling  and  silvery 
sheen,  and  laving  meadow  and  upland,  tree,  roof  and  hedge, 
in  a  shimmering  flood  of  flashing  and  molten  glory.  Not 
the  pale,  sickly,  vapory  splendor  of  now-a-days  laureldom — 
nothing  of  that  kind — it  was  the  veritable  Napoleon  glory 
of  moonshine,  which,  having  admired  and  shivered  in  for 
awhile,  Hardy  and  De  Koven  were  glad  to  leave  for  the 
more  comfortable  neighborhood  of  the  creaking  and  crack- 
ing old  stove,  now  red  and  glowing  with  redundant  heat. 

De  Koven  threw  himself  on  the  sand  within  the  hut,  and 
communed  with  his  own  thoughts,  giving  speech  at  length, 
and  embodying  them  in  words,  in  substance  thus  : 

"  It  is  strange,  Hardy,  how  things  happen  in  this  world. 
That  I  should  have  been  sent  here  to  find  kindness  and 
friends,  and  form  life-enduring  attachments  among  a  people 
of  whose  existence  I  had  never  had  knowledge.  I  feel 
almost  as  if  there  was  design  in  it." 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  there  was,  De  Koven  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  do  exactly  doubt,  but  I  don't  understand. 
I  have  had  more  serious,  unanswerable  thoughts,  since  I 
have  been  here,  than  I  ever  had  before.  But  what  end  can 
be  served  by  sending  me  here,  paying  keelage  for  such  a 
port  in  the  sand  ?" 

"  You  have  spoken  one  of  your  unanswerable  thoughts, 


86  SEA-SPRAY. 

but  some  wise  end,  without  doubt.  We  are  all  but  links 
in  that  endless  concatenation  by  which  the  destiny  of  every 
human  being  is  chained  to  that  of  his  fellow ;  nnd  I  believe 
there  is  no  act  of  our  lives,  however  unimportant,  even  in 
the  trivial  details  of  our  every  day  duties,  which  has  not 
its  bearing  on  the  acts,  and  its  influence,  however  remote 
and  unnoted  it  may  be,  on  the  destinies,  of  others.  It  might 
have  been  some  trifling  delay,  some  neglected  or  procrasti- 
nated duty  of  some  obscure  or  unimportant  individual,  that 
caused  your  being  here.  But  the  Great  Cause  was  over 
all,  not  the  less,  and  ordered  it  for  purposes  involving,  per- 
haps, the  destiny  of  individuals  you  may  never  know." 

"  You  are  a  far-seeing  diviner,  Hardy,  as  far  as  things 
past  are  concerned,  for  it  was  a  sudden  and  slight  indispo- 
sition, delaying  the  arrival  in  Boston  of  a  gentleman  with 
whom  I  had  important  business  transactions,  which  detained 
me  one  day.  Had  it  not  been  for  that  lost  day,  I  should 
have  reached  New- York  before  the  storm.  Little  the  poor 
fellow  thought  what  important  consequences  would  result 
from  that  inopportune  and  mischievous  freak  in  his  system. 
As  little  as  I  know  what  inconveniences  and  mishaps  may 
arise  from  this  troublesome  link  in  the  great  chain  of  which 
I  form  a  link.  One  thing  I  do  know,  it  has  made  one  grave 
on  the  hill-side,  which  could  not  have  been  looked  for. 
How  many  hearts  would  have  shuddered  and  sunk,  with  a 
dread  of  bereavement  and  sorrow,  if  it  could  have  been 
known  that  a  grave  was  to  be  opened  where  that  one  was 
opened.  It  is  a  blessed  thing,  Hardy,  that  we  cannot  fore- 
see, since  we  cannot  avert!" 

"  Very  true.  '  It  is  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his 
steps.' " 

De  Koven  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  resting  his  head  on 


SEA-SPRAY.  87 

his  hand  as  he  reclined.  He  looked  out  upon  the  moonlit 
ocean,  and  his  thoughts  wandered  far  away,  lost  in  the 
mazes  of  mysticism,  and  among  the  fables  of  poetical  and 
idolatrous  pagan  dreamers.  At  length  he  spoke : 

"  This  is  the  hour  over  which  the  Manes  preside — the 
dreamy,  vapory  hour  wjien  night  melts  into  morning ;  and 
this  moonlight  ocean  shore  is  a  fitting  temple  for  the  vota- 
ries of  the  divinities  of  the  dead.  Hardy,  do  you  believe 
in  the  gods  of  the  tombs  and  the  dead  ?" 

"  I  have  never  had  time  nor  taste  for  such  heathenish 
mythological  nonsense.  Do  think  of  better  things." 

"It  is  nonsense,  I  grant,  thus  personifying  and  classify- 
ing vague  imaginings  ;  but  it  proves  the  inquiring,  and 
curious,  and  dissatisfied  longings  of  the  spirit,  in  all  ages, 
after  the  knowledge  that  is  unattainable — the  seeking  to 
penetrate  the  impenetrable — which  is  still  one  of  the  strong 
stirrings  of  the  restless  energy  within  us.  You  have  had 
time  to  think,  Hardy.  Give  me  the  benefit  of  your  cogita- 
tions." 

u  It  has  been  no  part  of  my  business  to  solve  mysteries. 
I  have  been  satisfied  to  regulate  my  own  actions,  and  to 
order  my  own  daily  walk  and  conversation,  according  to 
the  known  requirements  of  scriptural  and  Christian  duty  ; 
to  cleanse  my  thoughts  of  all  impurities,  and  my  heart  of 
all  mean,  malicious,  unholy  feelings  and  motives.  This  is 
business  enough  for  one  life-time,  without  wasting  any 
thought  upon  what  affords  no  help  towards  its  accomplish- 
ment." 

"  All  very  true  and  right,  but  you  have  a  theory  on  this 
subject — you  can't  be  so  practical  on  an  impracticable 
point.  The  spirits  of  the  departed,  Hardy,  where  are 
they  ?" 


88  SEA-SPKAY. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  meddle  with  that  question.  If  any 
man  can  tell,  to  the  satisfaction  or  enlightenment  of  ano- 
ther, I  am  willing  to  admit  he  is  a  wiser  man  than  I  am. 
Those  things  which  God  has  seen  fit  to  hide  from  the  com- 
prehension of  man,  I  am  content  should  remain  hidden.  I 
know  enough  for  my  own  guidance — more  than  I  shall 
ever  be  able  to  give  account  for."' 

"  There  is  just  this  difference  between  you  and  me, 
Hardy.  You  are  a  trusting,  practical,  common  sense  Chris- 
tian— I  am  a  discontented,  doubting,  dreaming,  unstable 
caviler,  wishing  to  know,  but  unwilling  to  learn." 

So  they  talked  away  the  night,  without  being  much  the 
wiser  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LUNDY  (who,  to  use  a  phrase  much  in  vogue  in  Sea- 
spray,  had  been  for  several  days  rather  "  down  at  the  heel 
with  this  great  cold")  followed  the  directions  of  his  younger 
companions,  and  remained  at  home,  comfortably  installed 
in  the  great  lined  rocking-chair,  (that  never-failing  acces- 
sory to  fireside  enjoyment,  without  which  no  apartment  in 
Sea-spray  was  considered  "furnished.")  In  this  irksome 
home-keeping  he  was  carefully  ministered  unto  with  herb 
teas,  and  gruel,  and  "  stewed  quaker,"  and  all  manner  of 
approved  remedies  for  all  sorts  of  known  ailments,  and  en- 
tertained the  while  with  much  lively  and  amusing  chat,  by 
Mrs.  Godrick,  the  widowed  sister  of  Hardy,  who  presided 
with  much  graceful  dignity  over  the  domestic  economy  of 
his  commodious  and  hospitable  establishment. 

The  little  work-table  was  planted  in  its  accustomed 
nook,  the  lights  were  trimmed,  the  fire  abundantly  replen- 
ished, and  the  hearth  swept  with  the  nicest  possible  finish 
—  it  being  a  feat  in  broomcraft  not  easily  attained,  to  sweep 
skilfully  around,  without  moving  the  andirons  or  disturb- 
ing the  fire.  So  the  neat  little  parlor  was  light  and  cheer- 
ful in  the  blaze  of  an  old-fashioned  wood  fire — for,  with  a 
pertinacious  contempt  for  fuel-saving  discomforts,  Hardy 
contemned  stoves,  those  ill-favored  demons  of  darkness, 

4* 


90  SEJL-SPRAY. 

which  have  blotted  out  from  the  old  catalogue  of  home 
and  household  joys  that  most  delightful  of  all  terms  for. 
social  and  family  communings,  the  sweet,  "  between-lights" 
fireside  twilight — that  pleasant-breathing  spell  between  the 
toils  of  day  and  the  busy  occupations  of  evening,  when  the 
shadows  step  out  from  dark  corners,  and  dance  and  float  on 
the  jambs,  and  leap  up  and  flicker  and  faint  on  the  walls, 
and  swing  in  the  folds  of  the  curtains,  as  the  flames  flash 
up  or  grow  dim,  while  the  faces  we  love  look  loveliest  in 
the  flush  of  that  fire-light  glow.  Out  upon  stoves,  the 
grim  usurpers !  They  or  their  inventors  have  much  to 
answer  for,  in  banishing  the  poetry  of  twilight  from  the 
hearth,  and  filling  up  images  of  darkness  to  frown  by  the 
darkened  hearth,  and  overshadow  the  ingle-side's  cheerful 
blaze. 

In  the  light  of  the  ruddy  flame,  then,  sat  Lundy,  cozily 
toasting  his  feet  and  sipping  his  savory  sudorifics. 

"  Lundy,"  said  Mrs.  Godrick,  a  little  shade  of  discon- 
tent flitting  over  her  pleasant  countenance — "  Lundy,  I  am 
very  apprehensive  those  boys  will  have  rather  an  undesira- 
ble location  to-night.  It  was  an  absurdity  I  did  not  by  any 
means  give  my  countenance  to.  But  what  can  you  ex- 
pect of  these  young  creatures  ?  What  can  they  know  of 
life  ?" 

"  Captain  De  Koven  is  not  very  old,  it  is  true ;  but  he 
has  seen  something  of  life.  He  has  crowded  a  great  many 
changes  and  stirring  experiences  into  a  short  space  of 
time." 

"  Undoubtedly  he  has,  Lundy.  I  shall  regret  to  part  with 
Captain  De  Koven  very  much.  He  is  decidedly  a  very 
pleasant,  little  fellow." 

"  Do  you  call  Clarence  De  Koven  a  little  fellow,  Mrs. 


SEA-SPRAY.  91 

Godrick  ?  I  should  consider  him  as  rather  above  the  or- 
dinary pattern  for  a  man,"  said  Lundy,  who  seemed  dis- 
posed to  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Godrick's  mode  of  expression, 
which,  in  her  vocabulary,  was  only  a  pet  substitute  for 
"young  gentleman." 

Mrs.  Godrick  quickly  unrolled  her  work — a  most  elabo- 
rate piece  of  complicated  patchwork,  which  she  was  indus- 
triously preparing  for  quilting,  and  made  no  reply  to 
Lundy's  defence  of  his  Captain's  proportions. 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time  with  De  Koven,  Lundy ; 
you  are  undoubtedly  much  attached  to  him,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Godrick,  with  much  tact,  avoiding  any  curtailment  of 
patronymics,,  or  any  use  of  familiar  diminutives,  by  which 
she  might  inadvertently  provoke  the  ire  of  her  companion, 
who  seemed  very  sensitive  with  regard  to  any  expression 
which  hinted  derogation  of  De  Koven's  dignity. 

"  I  have  been  with  him  from  his  birth,  and  in  the  service 
of  his  family  since  my  own.  You  must  know,  Mrs. 
Godrick,  that,  in  good  old  England,  servants  are  not  what 
they  are  here,  always  changing  service,  and  struggling  and 
striving  for  the  upper  hand,  claiming  equality,  and  dis- 
puting for  precedence ;  but  a  good  servant  is  a  lifetime 
friend,  faithful  and  deferential  in  prosperity,  and  more  faith- 
ful and  respectful  and  devoted  in  adversity. 

"Well,  the  old  master  and  mistress,  the  grand-parents  of 
Clarence,  lived  in  princely,  old-fashioned,  hospitable  style, 
on  a  fine  old  place  in  Lancashire.  The  estate  had  come 
unexpectedly  to  the  mistress,  from  an  old  gentleman,  a  far- 
off  relation  she  had  never  had  any  knowledge  of.  The 
master  held  a  commission  in  the  navy,  and  they  were  liv- 
ing very  pleasantly  on  a  pretty  little  property,  with  one 
child,  and  my  father  and  mother  lived  with  them,  ag  mas- 


92  SEA-SP1UY. 

ter's  man  and  lady's  maid.  So,  when  they  came  suddenly 
into  possession  of  the  great  estate,  they  disposed  of  the 
pretty  home  where  they  had  been  so  happy  ;  the  master 
retired  from  the  service,  and  man  and  maid  went  with 
them  to  the  great  hall  in  the  lordly  park,  and  they  lived 
surrounded  by  luxuries,  and  with  troops  of  friends;  and 
their  tenantry  loved  and  reverenced  them,  and  the  poor 
in  their  parish  blessed  and  prayed  for  them,  and  for  a  num- 
ber of  years  all  went  on  happily,  when,  all  at  once,  up 
started  a  new  claimant  from  beyond  the  seas,  and  he  proved 
himself  nearer  of  kin,  and  he  was  the  heir.  But  he  was 
liberable  and  kind,  and  gave  them  no  trouble,  but  made 
them  welcome  to  all  they  had  used  of  income,  and  so  on ; 
and  so  they  had  been  rich  some  ten  or  twelve  years,  and 
they  were  none  the  worse  for  that.  Then  they  relinquished 
the  grand  place,  but  they  did  not  like  living  within  its 
shadow,  for  Master  Tom  was  a  proud-spirited  boy,  and  he 
felt  the  change  more  than  any  of  them,  and  they  con- 
cluded to  come  to  America,  and  breathe  the  fresh  free  air 
of  the  wild  New  World.  So  John  and  Jane,  the  man  and 
the  maid,  must  needs  get  married  and  come  too,  for  they 
could  not  leave  the  kind  master  and  mistress  they  had 
served  so  long,  and  Master  Tom,  who  was  the  red  drop  in 
their  hearts. 

"They  came  to  New- York,  and  the  master  engaged  in 
business,  and  was  prosperous,  arid  was  respected  and  widely 
known  in  his  new  land,  and,  in  due  time,  Jack  Lundy 
claimed  a  footing  on  the  earth.  There  was  nothing  very 
remarkable,  that  I  recollect  took  place  in  the  family,  and 
time  passed  along  pleasantly,  and  fortunes  prospered,  till 
Master  Tom  was  a  man  and  master  of  a  ship,  and  Jack 
Lundy  was  a  big,  burly  boy,  a  sort  of  tolerated  nuisance 


SEA-SPBAY.  93 

in  the  house,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  claimed  the  honor 
of  owning  him,  in  whose  honest,  humble  hearts — God  bless 
them  ! — he  was  the  very  core  and  centre.  They  sent  him 
to  school,  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief,  and  set  him  at  such 
sort  of  service  as  he  was  willing  to  render.  Master  Tom 
was  off  and  on,  sailing  between  New-York  and  Liverpool, 
and  if  the  old  folks  loved  him,  poor  Jack  fairly  worshipped 
even  the  shadow  of  his  shoe-strings.  So  when  he  was  about 
twelve  years  old,  Master  Tom  being  on  the  point  of  sailing, 
Jack  walks  into  the  little  parlor  where  he  was  eating  his 
breakfast,  and  bids  him  good-bye  with  a  great  fuss,  then 
runs  up  to  his  room  and  steals  a  spare  shirt  or  two,  with  a 
few  other  indispensables,  and  slipping  out  unperceived, 
makes  for  the  ship,  and  telling  the  mate  that  Master  Tom 
sent  him,  gets  into  a  place  of  concealment,  and  keeps  out 
of  sight  till  the  ship  is  fairly  outside  the  dock. 

"  Master  Tom  scolded  me  roundly  for  the  grief  I  had  oc- 
casioned at  home,  but  I  had  provided  for  all  that  by  leaving 
a  note  with  a  confidential  schoolmate,  to  be  delivered  after 
the  ship  was  off,  and  I  knew  they  would  be  easy  if  I  was 
only  with  Master  Tom.  So,  from  that  time,  I  sailed  with 
him  as  a  sort  of  personal  attendant,  cabin  boy,  waiter, 
anything  to  be  where  he  was. 

"  After  a  year  or  two,  Master  Tom  came  on  board  one 
day  that  we  were  to  sail  from  Liverpool,  with  a  blue-eyed, 
rosy-cheeked,  lovely  young  creature,  his  new  married  bride  ; 
and  an  angel  in  human  form  she  was,  and  there  was  not 
one  on  board  who  did  not  think  her  good,  and  grand,  and 
beautiful  enough,  even  for  Master  Tom  ;  and  that  was 
capping  the  climax  of  commendation  beyond  all  possibility 
of  improving.  Master  Tom  made  her  his  idol,  and  if  he 
did  not  say  his  prayers  to  her,  he  came  very  near  it, — he 
worshipped  her  in  his  heart,  anyhow. 


94  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Well,  one  time  he  was  bringing  her  home  to  leave  her 
with  his  mother  awhile,  for  she  had  hoisted  signals  of  dis- 
tress, and  needed  a  pilot.  We  had  had  head  winds,  and 
no  winds,  and  the  voyage  was  a  tedious  one,  and  Master 
Tom  began  to  look  terribly  anxious,  and  to  pace  the  deck 
with  a  sad  cloud  on  his  brow,  which  he  always  shook  off, 
though,  at  the  cabin  door.  But  it  was  of  no  use,  for  one 
night  it  was  blowing  a  regular  gale,  and  he  did  not  dare  to 
leave  the  deck,  and  Master  Clarence  must  needs  add  to  the 
uproar  by  piping  up  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  She  had  her  nurse  and  women-servants  along,  and  the 
cabin  she  usually  occupied  was  fitted  for  a  queen,  and  she 
had  all  attendance,  and  everything  else  she  could  have  had 
anywhere,  and  all  things  went  well,  and  as  for  Master  Tom, 
he  was  the  happiest  man  alive. 

"We  were  within  a  day  or  so  of  port,  when  something 
went  wrong:  there  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  turns, 
that  will  sometimes  happen,  nobody  knows  how  or  why, 
and  the  pale  young  mother  knew  that  she  must  die.  But 
she  did  not  tell  Master  Tom  at  first,  for  she  had  talked  with 
me,  and  I  told  her  we  were  nearing  port,  and  encouraged 
her  to  think  she  might  reach  it  alive. 

"  It  was  not  to  be,  and  she  knew  it  better  than  any  of  us, 
and  she  called  me,  and  gave  the  babe  into  my  arms,  and  she 
said  :  "  Jack,  you  love  Master  Tom  beyond  every  other 
creature,  I  know, — for  his  sake,  more  than  for  mine,  you 
will  love  my  child.  Promise  me,  Jack,  that  you  will  keep 
with  him,  watch  him  in  his  boy  hood,  and  be  a  faithful  friend 
to  his  manhood.  Take  care  of  him,  Jack,  as  long  as  he 
needs  your  care,  and,  if  he  is  sometimes  harsh  or  ungrate- 
ful, for  my  sake  bear  with  him,  for  with  my  dying  hands  I 
have  committed  him  to  your  care.  My  blessing  rest  upon 


SEA-SPRAT.  95 

you,  and  God  reward  you,  as  you  deal  with  my  boy.  I 
promised,  with  my  hand  on  the  boy's  head,  and  I  believe  I 
have  not  failed  in  my  trust.  The  next  day  she  died,  and 
before  the  next  we  were  in  New- York." 

"  Life-like,  Lundy ;  and  how  did  Master  Tom  bear  it  ?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Godrick,  who  had  not  uttered  one  word  dur- 
ing Lundy's  long  narrative. 

"  He  bore  it  as  a  brave  man  and  a  Christian  should. 
His  heart  was  almost  broken,  but  he  was  calm  and  patient. 
The  old  mistress  and  my  mother  took  the  babe,  and,  as  I 
did  not  think  my  promise  required  it,  while  he  was  so  small, 
I  followed  Master  Tom.  As  soon  as  the  hoy  was  out  of 
petticoats,  his  father  took  him  to  sea,  and  then  my  care 
commenced.  When  the  boy  was  left  home  to  go  to  school, 
it  was  my  business  to  take  charge  of  him.  After  awhile, 
the  old  folks  all  passed  away,  and  then  Clarence  went  with 
his  father  when  he  chose.  Sometimes  he  was  under  mas- 
ters in  Liverpool,  arid  sometimes  in  New- York,  and  some- 
times he  had  a  tutor  on  ship-board,  and  in  that  way  he  got 
what  education  he  has,  enough  for  all  useful  purposes,  and 
some  for  the  ornamental,  I  suppose,  for  he  dances  enough 
for  his  health,  plays  the  flute  and  the  piano,  and  dabbles  a 
little  with  pencils  and  brushes,  and  jabbers  French,  Ger- 
man and  Italian,  and  reads  newspapers  and  novels,  and 
knows  something  of  general  politics;  but  is  no  scholar,  no 
philosopher,  no  politician  or  po»t,  no  genius  of  any  sort, 
and  I  don't  believe  he  will  set  the  ocean  on  fire  as  long  as 
it  is  as  cold  as  it  generally  is.  But  just  as  he  is,  I  would  not 
change  a  hair  of  his  head  to  have  him  like  the  best  man  on 
earth,  rather  than  Clarence  De  Koven." 

So  saying,  Lundy  took  up  the  tongs  and  carefully  adjusted 
the  fire,  while  Mrs.  Godrick  spread  out  her  patchwork  and 
surveyed  it  with  an  air  of  serene  satisfaction. 


96  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  Will  he  feel  this  interruption  to  his  business  any  great 
inconvenience,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view  ?"  asked  the 
lady,  folding  up  her  Work  as  she  spoke. 

"  Not  he — he  has  money  enough.  His  mother  was  an 
heiress,  and  his  grandfather  and  his  father  both  made  for- 
tunes. He  keeps  afloat  because  he  is  restless  and  lonely 
on  land.  The  sea  is  his  natural  element,  and  he  takes  to  it 
like  a  fish." 

"  Was  it  not  a  wild  freak  of  his,  not  leaving  his  ship, 
when  everybody  thought  she  would  certainly  go  to  pieces  ?" 

"  It  was,  but  it  was  just  like  him.  He  had  made  a  sort 
of  vow  to  his  own  soul,  to  be  satisfied  to  lose  his  own  life 
and  property,  if  he  could  only  see  his  crew  and  passengers 
safe  on  the  land.  When  it  was  done,  he  felt  himself  in 
honor  bound  to  keep  his  word  to  his  own  conscience.  He 
was  desperate  about  the  Evelyns,  and  almost  in  a  state  of 
delirium  after  they  were  off.  He  is  very  excitable,  and 
after  that  is  over,  sometimes  absent  and  dreamy-like.  I 
can  generally  rouse  him  by  making  him  angry.  I  don't 
feel,  Mrs.  Godrick,  that  I  am  free  from  my  promise  to  his 
poor  young  mother  yet." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  they  are  not  at  home,  foolish  fellows," 
said  Mrs.  Godrick,  whirling  round  her  pie  on  the  hearth. 

In  reply  to  which,  Lundy  expressed  his  opinion  that  they 
could  take  care  of  themselves,  and  after  swallowing  sundry 
medicaments,  took  his  light  and  bade  Mrs.  Godrick  "  good 
night ;"  to  which  she  responded,  "  Purple  slumbers  to  you, 
Lundy." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  the  retirement  of  their  own  private  apartments,  Evelyn 
and  Ada  spent  the  first  days  of  sadness  and  desolate  lone- 
liness of  heart.  Edith  had  been  to  them — to  him  more 
especially — the  object  of  constant  and  engrossing  tender- 
ness and  care.  Shut  out  by  her  melancholy  deprivation 
from  so  many  of  the  ordinary  sources  of  amusement,  and 
deprived  as  she  had  been,  by  her  own  timid  and  nervous 
terperament,  and  her  mother's  capricious  avoidance  of  all 
intercourse  with  general  society,  of  all  the  advantages  of 
training  and  teaching  which  skill  and  philanthropy  had 
placed  within  the  reach  of  her  unfortunate  class,  she  clung 
with  the  more  tenacious  and  exacting  grasp  to  those  who 
could  understand  and  appreciate  her  best,  and  consequently 
could  reach  most  readily  the  few  avenues  through  which 
enjoyment  and  intelligence  could  be  conveyed  to  her  mind. 
But  it  was  an  untutored  and  uncurbed  spirit  at  best. 
Though  gentle  and  loving  towards  those  to  whom  it  was 
attached,  it  needed  the  vigilant  eye,  and  the  tender  but 
steady  hand  of  untiring  affection,  to  guide  and  govern  it. 
To  Ada's  indolent  and  self-indulgent  disposition,  the  task 
was  too  irksome  ;  and,  while  she  lavished  upon  her  all 
kinds  of  injudicious  and  pernicious  indulgences,  and  petted 
and  caressed  her  with  extravagant  fondness,  she  shrunk 


98  SEA-SPRAY. 

from  all  participation  or  acquiescence  in  the  pursuance  of 
system,  or  in  the  carrying  out  of  any  plans  for  wholesome 
and  indispensable  discipline,  putting  aside,  with  petulant  or 
querulous  objections,  all  appeals  to  her  judgment,  or  propo- 
sitions for  her  co-operation.  It  was  a  difficult  task  for 
Evelyn;  but  he  was  strong  in  the  might  of  an  overwhelm- 
ing and  self-sacrificing  love,  and  to  the  helpless  child  his 
slightest  look  or  gesture  was  law ;  while  against  the  feeble 
and  capricious  authority  sometimes  assumed  by  her  mother, 
she  rebelled  with  indignant  and  scornful  gesticulations. 
Exercising  entire  dominion  over  Ernest,  his  sister  loved 
him  with  a  pure,  unselfish  love  ;  and  a  look  of  sorrow  on 
'his  sweet,  pale  face,  or  a  tear  in  his  mild  blue  eye,  would 
subdue  her  most  overbearing  mood,  and  bring  her,  with  a 
silent  caress,  to  his  side.  So  there  was  always  peace  and 
gentle  joy  in  their  pure  and  peculiar  methods  of  interchang- 
ing intelligence,  while  they  pursued  their  speechless  sports 
together.  And  Ernest  drooped  and  pined  for  his  accus- 
tomed play-mate,  unused  to  and  unfitted  for  the  rougher 
sports  and  more  boisterous  amusements  appropriate  to  his 
sex  and  age. 

Rest  and  quiet  had  restored  the  physical  energies  of  the 
mother  and  the  boy,  and  Evelyn  began  to  look  with  an 
anxious  eye  upon  the  dreamy  and  imaginative  character, 
and  effeminate  habits  of  the  lovely  and  singular  child. 
Singular,  he  in  truth  was ;  a  perfect  child  in  his  simple, 
earnest  truthfulness.  There  was  not  the  first  thought  of 
guile  in  his  open,  honest  little  heart.  A  child  in  his  ignor- 
ance of  evil,  in  thought  or  practice,  and  his  unsuspecting 
and  confiding  love  for  every  one  with  whom  he  held  in- 
tercourse. He  was  sometimes  startlingly  mature  in  his  re- 
flections, and  quaintly  original  in  his  modes  of  expression. 


SEA-SPRAY.  99 

Having  had  so  little  use  for  oral  language  in  his  intercourse 
with  the  only  playmate  his  companionless  childhood  had 
ever  known,  he  often  in  his  earnestness  forgot  to  apply 
spoken  mediums  of  thought,  and  surprised  and  pained  his 
father  with  his  speechless  gesticulations.  "  This  must  be 
remedied,  if  possible,"  was  Evelyn's  thought,  when  first  his 
attention  was  awakened  to  the  too  evident  peculiarity. 

Engrossed  as  his  whole  heart  had  been,  in  its  protecting 
and  cherishing  love  for  Edith,  had  he  indeed  been  heedless 
of  the  claims  of  hi^  son  ?  His  heart  acquitted  him  ;  for  in 
his  love  for  his  children  he  had  known  no  degree  or  shade 
of  difference.  He  knew  he  was  guiltless  of  partiality  or 
favoritism,  but,  in  the  stronger  demands  on  his  care,  which 
the  helplessness  of  the  one  had  given  her,  had  he  not  over- 
looked what  was  due  to  the  other  ?  He  felt  that  he  had, 
and  that  it  was  a  duty,  now  deep  and  imperative,  to  counter- 
act, quickly,  the  involuntary  mischief.  In  this  it  was  pain- 
ful to  feel  that  he  must  act  unaided  and  alone.  It  was  use- 
less to  look  to  Ada  for  counsel  or  sympathy ;  for  counsel 
she  was  incompetent,  for  sympathy,  alas  !  she  would  have 
felt  herself  defrauded,  had  he  spoken  to  her  of  expending 
his  own  on  any  object  independent  of  herself.  His  only 
course,  at  present,  was  to  go  out  with  Ernest  himself,  to 
seek  amusements  for  him,  and  to  accustom  him  to  the 
companionship  of  children,  and  to  the  more  bracing  and 
athletic  sports  of  boys. 

In  this,  he  looked  to  Allen  as  his  assistant  and  coadju- 
tor. The  two  or  three  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since  they 
first  found  a  home  in  Sea-spray,  had  passed  on  in  uninter- 
rupted seclusion,  varied  only  by  intercourse  with  the  family 
in  which  they  resided,  by  frequent  but  hurried  calls  from 
De  Koven,  and  an  occasional  visit  from  Mr.  Alden  and  his 


100  SEA-SPRAY. 

lady,  a  diffident,  self-distrusting,  lovely  woman,  zealously 
co-operating  in  all  good  works,  earnest  and  anxious  in  her 
benevolent  efforts,  and  searching  out  and  relieving  with  a 
sympathising  heart,  and  a  bountiful,  unsparing  hand,  all  the 
suffering  children  of  destitution  and  neglect,  yet  keeping 
herself  as  much  as  possible  out  of  sight,  and  hiding  from 
her  left  hand  all  knowledge  of  the  generous  doings  of  her 
right.  To  her,  Ada  was  an  object  of  deep  commiseration, 
she  seemed  so  gentle  and  uncomplaining,  so  delicately  and 
transcendently  sweet  in  her  graceful,  sorrowing  loveliness, 
that  she  longed  to  take  her  to  her  heart,  and  speak  words 
of  consolation  and  love.  To  her  husband,  more  penetra- 
ting and  more  deeply  read  in  the  dark  volume  of  worldly 
wisdom,  and  in  that  book  of  contradictions  and  mysteries, 
the  human  heart,  there  was  something  less  attractive  in  the 
demeanor  of  Ada,  something  hidden  if  not  heartless — a 
certain  indescribable  shadowing  of  concealment  and  want 
of  ingenuousness,  mingled,  it  is  true,  with  strong  manifes- 
tations of  tenderness  and  winning  gentleness  of  heart. 
To  him  she  was  a  mystery ;  and  since  his  conversation 
with  De  Koven,  many  little  incidents  had  been  noted  as 
corroborative  of  the  ideas  they  both  entertained,  of  actual 
concealment  or  threatened  aberration  of  mind. 

The  Christmas  season  was  close  at  hand,  and  Evelyn  sat 
pondering  schemes  for  cheering  and  entertaining  Ernest 
and  Ada.  Ada  sat  languidly  swinging  back  in  her  chair, 
enveloped  in  her  wrapper,  and  rolling  her  luxurious  shawl 
about  her,  with  a  sort  of  drowsy  consciousness  of  personal 
comfort.  Ernest  had  been  for  a  long  time  sedulously  oc- 
cupied in  spinning  a  big  humming-top,  which  Allen  had 
given  him  ;  but  he  was  weary  now,  so  he  came  forward  to 
the  fire,  and,  complaining  that  his  fingers  were  cold,  and 


SEA-SPRAT.  101 

his  head  heavy,  he  drew  his  little  bench  to  his  mother's  side, 
and  laid  his  head  in  her  lap. 

"  Oh — do  get  away,  Ernest ;  you  weary  and  worry  me," 
said  Ada,  with  a  peevish,  impatient  tone. 

The  child  rose  instantly,  the  tears  welling  up  in  his  soft 
sad  eyes,  as  Evelyn  opened  his  arms  to  receive  him.  A 
flush  spread  over  Evelyn's  pale  brow,  not  unnoted  by 
Ada.  She  felt  that  on  Ernest's  behalf  she  had  incurred 
his  displeasure,  and  with  a  resentful  feeling  toward  the 
child,  she  went  on  to  make  matters  worse. 

"  Don't,  Ernest,  be  such  a  blubbering  baby  ;  I  was  only 
thinking  of  far-off  times,  and  you  startled  me.  You  are 
very  troublesome." 

"  Ijtid  not  mean  to  be,  mother.  1  am  very  sorry,"  said 
the  grieved  and  sobbing  boy. 

"  Ernest,"  said  Evelyn,  making  no  comment  upon  Ada's 
half  apologetic  remark,  "  I  was  just  thinking  how  we  would 
keep  our  Christmas.  I  don't  know  what  we  can  do  here 
in  Sea-spray,  where  there  are  no  shops  for  us  to  buy  toys." 

"  I  don't  care  much  for  toys,  papa.  If  I  could  buy  a 
heart  like  Allen's,  that  never  aches,  a  right  merry  little 
heart,  papa,  always  singing  like  a  bird,  I  should  be  glad  of 
Christmas,"  and  the  gentle  boy  laid  his  aching  head  on  his 
father's  shoulder,  and  closed  his  weary  eyes.  Evelyn 
looked  at  Ada ;  he  could  not  help  the  reproachful  glance 
with  which  his  eye  rested  on  her. 

"Nonsense,  Walter.  Don't  encourage  that  great  boy 
in  being  such  a  soft-hearted  simpleton,"  said  Ada,  reso- 
lutely determined  not  to  admit  that  she  had  been  cruel. 

"  It  is  a  fault  of  which  his  mother,  at  least,  is  not  guilty 
just  now.  Do  you  consider  yourself  soft-hearted  to-day, 
Ada  ?" 


102  SEA-SPRAY. 

Ada  burst  into  tears. 

"  No,  no,  Walter ;  I  am  perverse  and  irritable,  and  ner- 
vous, and  wretched." 

Almost  for  the  first  time  in  their  wedded  life  Walter  did 
not  respond  to  the  appeal  with  soothing  and  caresses. 
Oh,  nerves,  nerves  !  abused  and  vilified  scape-goats.  For 
how  much  ill-temper,  and  peevishness,  and  selfish  dis- 
regard, and  heartless  wounding  of  the  feelings  of  others, 
have  they  been  wickedly  made  accountable  ! 

Ada  wept,  long  and  bitterly.  She  had  wounded  her 
child  ;  she  had  offended  her  husband ;  and  she  was  dis- 
satisfied with  herself. 

"  Walter,"  she  said  at  length,  "  I  am  very  wretched." 

"  I  see  it,  Ada.  But  should  that  be  an  excuse  fqr  un- 
kindness  to  Ernest  ?  Be  peevish  and  perverse  with  me, 
if  you  will.  Perhaps  I  sometimes  wound  you  ;  but  I  can- 
not have  the  tender  heart  of  our  child  stung  by  unmerited 
rebuke." 

"  I  deserve  your  reproof,  Walter.  I  was  harsh  with 
my  innocent  child  ;  but,  if  you  knew  the  weight  that  is 
crushing  my  heart,  and  all  but  maddening  my  brain,  I  am 
sure  you  would  pity  and  pardon  my  pettish,  unreasonable 
whims." 

u  Jf  I  knew,  Ada ;  and  do  I  not  know  all  your  causes  of 
grief?  You  sometimes  speak  strange  words.  Have  you 
any  secret,  cause  of  uneasiness  ?  Why  do  I  not  know  ? 
Sure,  Ada,  there  can  be  nothing  weighing  on  your  heart 
in  which  I  am  not  equally  interested  ?  Why  do  you 
withhold  your  confidence  ?  Have  you  aught  to  conceal  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Walter ;  nothing  but  weakness  and  folly." 

And  Ada  bent  down  her  head  to  kiss  her  sleeping  boy  ; 
but  the  action  could  not  conceal  from  her  husband  the 


SEA-SPRAY.  103 

deadly  pallor  that  had  spread  itself  over  her  cheeks,  lips 
and  brows.  Evelyn  laid  the  boy  on  his  bed ;  and,  draw- 
ing his  chair  in  front  of  Ada,  he  sat  down  and  took  her 
trembling  hands  in  his.  His  look  was  calm,  but  stern 
and  resolute,  as  he  fixed  it  on  the  now  flushed  cheek  of  his 
wife." 

"  Ada,"  he  began — "  Ada,  the  time  has  come  for  me  to 
ask  your  confidence.  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes  to  the  con- 
viction that  you  have  some  cause  of  disquiet  which  you 
will  not  speak.  Is  there  anything  undone  that  I  can  do  ? 
Is  there  any  arrangement  I  can  make  which  will  con- 
duce to  your  happiness  ?  Do  you  want  anything  that 
love  can  bestow  or  wealth  procure  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Walter  ;  nothing.  You  are  only  too  tender 
and  too  indulgent.  I  have  all — more  than  all  I  desire. 
Give  me  only  your  continued  love,  and  I  will  ask  no 
more." 

"  Have  I  been  cold  or  unkind,  Ada,  that  you  ask  such  a 
thing?  Tell  me  what  it  is  that  has  changed  you  so  strangely  ; 
for  you  are  changed,  Ada,  sadly,  sorrowfully  changed," 

Ada  shook  her  head  deprecatingly,  but  made  no  reply ; 
and  Evelyn  continued  : 

"  We  have  lived  a  roaming,  unsettled  life,  Ada ;  and  1 
begin  to  think  that,  for  our  dear  Ernest's  sake,  we  should 
choose  some  pieasant  location,  and  make  him  a  permanent 
home.  I  have  thought  that  you  might  possibly  be  pining 
now  under  the  pressure  of  an  untried  sorrow  for  your 
childhood's  home." 

Ada  startled  and  trembled. 

"  If  you  wish,  Ada,  I  will  take  you  back  to  your  English 
home.  'The  world  is  all  before  us,  where  to  choose,'  and 
I  have  wealth  to  win  a  home  in  any  land.  Will  you  go  to 
England  ?" 


104  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Never,  Walter,  never !  Oh,  God  forbid  that,"  gasped 
Ada,  sinking  back,  almost  fainting,  in  her  chair.  "  Here, 
Walter,  here,  where  our  blessed  Edith  reposes — let  me  re- 
main here.  Oh,  the  thought  of  leaving  this  place,  how  it 
palsied  my  heart !" 

"  Is  then  the  dread  of  leaving  Sea-spray  the  terror  that 
has  troubled  you  ?"  asked  Evelyn,  delighted  with  the  idea 
that  he  had  fathomed  the  cause  of  Ada's  deep  depression. 
"  How  could  you  be  so  childish  as  to  let  that  thought  so 
disturb  you  ?  Do  I  understand  you  now  ?  Is  it  your  wish 
that  we  remain  where  we  are,  and  buy  or  build  us  a  nest 
in  this  pretty  retreat  ?  Then  that  is  settled.  We  are  to 
make  Sea-spray  our  home.  I  cannot  tell  you,  Ada,  how 
happy  I  shall  be  in  the  anticipation  ;  and  we  will  begin  to 
explore  all  the  pretty  localities,  and  find  some  sweet  nook 
in  which  we  will  rear  us  a  shelter  and  a  home.  It  will  be 
well  for  oui  boy,  for  I  am  sure  this  is  a  peaceful,  pure  little 
place." 

Evelyn  was  relieved  of  a  load  of  sad,  troublous  care.  He 
had  discovered  one  cause  of  Ada's  unhappiness,  and  it  was 
in  his  power  to  remove  it. 

"  Allen,"  said  Evelyn,  when  he  next  met  Allen  at  the 
tea-table,  "  how  do  boys  keep  Christmas  in  Sea-spray  ?  I 
wish  to  join  you,  with  Ernest,  and  see  how  we  can  have 
the  most  enjoyment." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  laughing  boy,  "  that  there  is 
any  particular  way  of  spending  Christmas  more  than  other 
days.  Sea-spray  boys  always  have  something  in  the  way 
of  play  going  on.  If  there's  ice  we  skate ;  if  not,  when  it's 
pleasant,  we  play  ball,  or  prison  base,  or  pitch  quoits.  If  it 
is  not  fit  weather  for  out-of-door  plays,  we  roast  corn,  or 
make  candy,  or  play  checkers,  or  tell  stories  and  riddles, 


SEA-SPRAY.  105 

and   build   boats   or   cross-guns.      We   always   find   play 
enough." 

"  So  it  seems.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  apprentice  Ernest 
to  you  this  winter.  Will  you  teach  him  to  play  ?" 

Allen  thought  it  was  a  strange  boy  that  needed  to  be 
taught  to  play  ;  but  he  promised  very  readily  to  take  him 
as  an  apprentice  to  the  business  of  seeking  amusement ;  for 
he  liked  the  gentle,  queer  little  stranger,  and  they  were 
soon  sworn  friends. 

"  Oh,  Clarence,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Ernest, 
the  next  day,  as  De  Koven  entered  the  little  sitting-room 
in  which  Ernest  and  Allen  were  amusing  themselves. 
Ernest  was  shelling  the  little  pearly  kernels  of  his  chicken 
corn  into  a  neat  little  basket,  while  Allen  was  shaking,  by 
its  long,  slender  handle,  the  pretty  wire- box  in  which  he 
was  skilfully  popping  the  grain. 

"  Only  look,  Clarence,  it  is  so  nice  ;"  and  the  delighted 
child  presented  to  his  friend  the  store  of  soft,  snowy  pulps, 
which  had  l:een  subjected  to  the  heating  process. 

"  Well,  Ernest,  do  you  find  it  pleasant  in  Sea-spray  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Clarence.     There  are  lots  of  good-nat 
boys  here;  and,  do  you  know,  papa  has  put  me  io/  Q 
to  Allen,  and  what  do  you  think  I  am  learning  ?"/ 

"  Something  pleasant,  I  am  certain,  Ernest,  if  y°u 
very  smiling  just  now." 

"  That's  just  it,  Clarence.  I  am  learning  Play  and  be 
happy.  Allen  says  I  am  a  good  schola*  and  l  believe  ] 
am  ;  for  you  see,  Clarence,  I  have  leaned  already  to  let 
my  heart  laugh." 

"  Did  you  have  to  learn  that,  Ernest  ?  You  are  some- 
what young  to  need  such  a  lesson." 

"Yes!   but  you  know,  Clarence,  sometimes  there  are 

5 


106 


SEA-SPKAY. 


weary  old  hearts  in  weak  young  bodies.  But  see,  Allen 
has  done  another  basket  full — oh,  how  beautiful !  And  so, 
Clarence,  they  say  you  will  get  off  our  dear  old  Orphan. 
Do  you  think  you  will  ?" 

"  I  hope  she  will  float  to-day,  Ernest ;  and  I  shall  be  off, 
if  she  does,  in  a  day  or  two,  for  New- York." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  you  are  going,  Clarence  ;  but  you  will 
be  so  glad  to  be  at  sea  again.  I  am  glad  for  you,  Clarence, 
but  I  am  sorry  for  myself.  You  will  come  to  Sea-spray 
again  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  shall,  Ernest,  for  I  hear  you  are  to  make 
it  your  home.  Yes,  I  shall  come  and  see  .you  before  I  go 
off.  It  will  take  some  time  to  get  the  poor,  battered  ship 
ready  for  sea,  and  I  shall  corne  down  and  see  what  pro- 
gress you  make  in  your  studies  under  Allen's  tuition." 

"  I  shall  learn  a  great  many  things.  I  am  going  to  see 
the  boys  skate,  and  then  I  sh,all  have  skates,  and  try  to 
skate  myself;  and  next  summer,  Clarence — oh,  next  sum- 
mer, we  shall  go  fishing,  and  frogging,  and  crabbing,  and 
a  U  sorts  of  berrying."  A  sad  shadow  passed  over  the  face 
of  t'^e  boy.  "  Oh  no,  not  all  sorts  of  burying,  for  one  is 
buryii>?  our  friends.  Oh,  dear,  blessed  Edith,  did  I  like  to 
forget  y/>u  ?"  And,  laying  his  face  on  De  Koven's  arm, 
he  sobbed  i^t  the  bitter  thought. 

-.  "  Well,  now,  Ernest,  I  must  look  in  on  your  father  a  few 
minutes,  and  ti'^en  I  am  off  for  the  Beach,  for  the  last  time 
this  winter,  I  hope.  What  shall  I  send  you  to  keep  Christ- 
mas with,  from  New-York  ?" 

-  "  Oh,  lots  of  nice  things  ;  but  mind  you,  Clarence,  let 
them  be  things  that  will  bear  dividing,  for  I  could  not  en- 
joy what  I  could  not  share.  I've  always  had  some  one  to 
share  my  Santa  Glaus,"  6aid  the  little  boy,  with  a  weak, 
tremulous  utterance,  "so  noyv  it  shall  be  Allen." 


SEA-SPRAY.  1.07 

The  boys  went  on  with  their  sports ;  now  with  marbles 
and  top,  and  then  with  their  miniature  ship,  which  they 
were  preparing  for  next  summer's  sailing.  Ernest,  often 
in  his  eagerness  to  communicate  a  thought,  or  enforce  an 
argument,  forgetting  speech,  and  gesticulating  and  making 
signs  and  grimaces,  till  recalled  to  consciousness  by  Allen's 
look  of  wonder,  the  flush  of  confusion  and  shame  would 
burn  on  his  pale  cheek,  and  the  tears,  awakened  by  pain- 
ful associations,  would  gather  on  his  lids. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LUNDY  came  down  to  the  breakfast-room  the  next  morn- 
ing in  a  more  comfortable  state  of  health.  With  regard 
to  the  color  of  his  slumbers,  he  made  no  remark,  simply 
stating  that  they  had  been  sound  and  refreshing,  "  thanks  to 
Mrs.  Godrick's  good  nursing." 

"  I  suspect,  Lundy,  those  foolish  boys  will  be  willing  to 
come  home  for  a  hot  breakfast  by  this  time.  Is  not  that 
your  opinion  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Godrick,  as  she  busied  her- 
self in  arranging  her  table. 

"  It  is  not  unlikely  that  they  ma)^.  I  hardly  think  the 
ship  is  off  yet,  and  they  will  have  nothing  to  detain  them 
on  the  Beach." 

At  this  moment  Hardy  and  De  Koven  made  their  ap- 
pearance, crossing  the  fields  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
entered,  as  Mrs.  Godrick  was  placing  her  smoking  cakes  on 
the  table. 

"  Ah  !  here  you  are,"  said  the  lady,  as  the  pale,  weary- 
looking  sojourners  of  the  Beach  entered  the  breakfast- 
room.  "  Just  in  time,  just  in  time  for  my  hot  breakfast ; 
famished,  too,  I'll  bet  a  cooky." 

De  Koven  flung  himself  into  a  chair  by  the  fire  and 
laughed,  while  Hardy  bustled  about,  with  questions  and 
orders  on  many  subjects  of  out-of-doors  and  household  ar- 
rangements. 


SEA-SPRAT.  109 

"  A  pretty  wild-goose  chase  you  have  had,  keeping 
watch  of  the  sea.  What  have  you  gained  ?" 

"  A  regular  torn-fool's  errand,  Mrs.  Godrick.  We  might 
better  have  been  in  our  own  comfortable  lodgings  at  home, 
for  anything  we  have  seen  or  done.  However,  we  have 
had  a  very  sociable,  pleasant  night,  and,  let  me  tell  you, 
Lundy,  Hardy's  experience  is  very  well  worth  a  cold  night 
by  the  sea-side." 

"  Suppose  we  have  it  over  again,"  said  Lundy.  "  I  am 
not  too  old  to  learn,  and  my  love  affairs  are  all  to  come." 

"  You  had  better  eat  your  breakfast,"  said  Hardy,  "  and 
let  love  affairs  alone.  They  are  worse  than  sand-banks  or 
land-falls  in  a  squall." 

"  Speaking  from  experience,  Captain  ?"  said  Lundy, 
gravely. 

"  From  observation,  more  particularly,"  replied  Hardy, 
quietly  helping  himself  to  a  replenishing  of  cakes,  hot  and 
smoking,  from  the  griddle. 

"  Ah !  Captain  Hardy,  your  advice  is  not  needed  in  my 
good  friend  Lundy's  case.  He  is  wedded,  heart  and  soul, 
to  the  welfare  of  that  scape- grace,  Clarence  De  Koven  ; 
and  many  a  scrape  has  his  good  sense  and  his  kind  heart 
steered  the  fellow  clear  of.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  would 
not  have  found  himself  and  his  fortunes  in  life  '  brought  up 
all  standing'  upon  worse  land-falls  than  Sea-spray  Beach, 
more  times  than  he  cares  to  mention,  but  for  that  same 
unflinching  pilot,  Jack  Lundy,  God  bless  him !" 

De  Koven  ended  with  considerable  manifestation,  of 
feeling,  a  subject  commenced  in  light-hearted  badinage. 

"  Then  you  are  really  likely  to  be  off  to-day,  Captain  De 
Koven  ?  But  I  hope  you  will  visit  Sea-spray  at  a  more 
smiling  season,  and  under  more  auspicious  circumstances. 


110  SEA-SPRAY. 

I  assure  you  our  little  village  is  quite  another  affair  when 
she  has  on  her  summer  attire,  and  is  dressed  to  see  com- 
pany. When  we  can  hie  about,  we  have  many  little  rural 
excursions  and  amusements,  and  we  have  very  pleasant 
little  cozy  minglings  of  our  social  circle.  We  have  not 
many  lions,  it  is  true ;  but  such  as  we  have,  I  am  very 
confident  will  be  happy  to  roar  for  your  amusement.  We 
shall  always  have  a  snug  room  for  your  especial  accommo- 
dation, and  shall  be  delighted  to  do  the  honors  of  Sea-spray 
to  the  future  Mrs.  D " 

Mrs.  Godrick  paused,  for  she  had  talked  herself  out  of 
breath.  "  Our  village"  being  a  subject  on  which,  in  her 
glowing  admiration  of  its  beauties,  she  was  particularly 
enthusiastic. 

"I  shall  certainly  come  to  the  village  again.  I  have 
made  my  first  acquaintance  with  it  under  circumstances 
not  easily  forgotten.  I  am  a  worthless,  unclaimed  waif  on 
the  waters  of  life,  and  shall  be  likely  to  drift  this  way  with 
the  great  tide  of  next  summer  idlers." 

De  Koven  looked  a  little  sad,  and  Mrs.  Godrick  replied 
to  the  look,  as  well  as  the  words : 

"  Never  you  fret  about  that.  Some  pretty  wrecker  will 
pick  you  up,  in  due  time,  worthless  waif  though  you  call 
yourself." 

"  If  she  claims  salvage  on  an  article  not  worth  adver- 
tising, how  do  you  proceed,  Hardy  ?" 

"  In  that  case,  I  suppose  I  should  leave  it  with  the  finder, 
or  take  possession  for  the  benefit  of  the  State." 

"  Take  possession,  then,  in  Heaven's  name,  Hardy.  I  am 
willing  to  '  do  the  State  some  service  ;'  but  don't  see  the 
satchel-strings  tightened  over  my  head,  leaving  me  a  help- 
less captive  with  the  knitting-work,  to  whoever  chances  to 
find  me,  a  lost  castaway,  in  the  foam." 


SEA-SPRAY.  Ill 

'  As  you  say ;  but  let  us  wait  till  we  see  into  whose 
hands  you  fall.  The  captivity  may  not  be  so  disagreeable, 
after  all,"  said  Hardy,  industriously  pursuing  his  breakfast. 

"  I  think,  Mrs.  Godrick,"  said  Lundy,  "  I  shall  return  at 
the  end  of  a  few  years,  at  any  rate,  when  that  fair  wrecker 
in  skirts  has  bagged  the  Captain,  and  find  a  snug  anchor- 
age among  you.  I  begin  to  feel,  sometimes,  a  little  tired  of 
cruising  about  this  world,  without  any  reliable  holding- 
ground,  and  my  anchor,  when  I  cast  it,  continually  coming 
home.  I  find,  when  I  examine  the  log  of  the  past,  that  it 
is  time  I  payed  out  more  cable,  and  dropped  anchor  without 
much  splash,  with  a  good  lee,  under  which  to  set  up  a  look- 
out from  this  world,  and  calculate  my  bearings  for  another 
and  better." 

"  Let  me  build  you  a  pleasant  cabin,  Lundy,  but  don't 
wait  to  take  possession  before  you  begin  to  calculate  your 
bearings  for  that  { better  country,  even  an  heavenly  one.' 
If  you  have  a  true  compass,  it  matters  little  from  what 
thumb  you  take  your  observation,  the  needle  will  always 
point  right.  Though  the  north  star  be  clouded,  Lundy, 
it  is  always  in  the  right  place ;  and  though  the  eye  may  be 
dim  that  seeks  it,  and  though  the  needle  of  faith  may  be 
sometimes  submerged  when  our  cause  is  darkest,  the  Star 
of  Bethlehem  is  always  in  the  ascendant." 

Hardy  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  the  conversation  and  the 
breakfast  came,  at  the  same  time,  to  a  conclusion. 

"  Now  for  business  and  the  Beach.  Which  way  do  you 
go,  Hardy  ?" 

"  Across  the  lots.  It's  my  shortest  course,  and  I  am  in 
some  haste.  I  have  bills  to  settle,  and  laborers  to  pay  off; 
and  I  wish  to  board  the  schooner,  for  there's  a  heavy 
amount  there  to  be  looked  into.  But  these  business  details 


112  SEA-SPEAY. 

with  the  men  will  be  tedious,  and  you  hare  no  occasion  to 
hurry  yourself;  the  ship  can't  go  till  the  next  flood,  and 
that  is  not  in  some  hours." 

"  Very  true.  I  shall  take  the  street,  for  I  wish  to  see 
Evelyn  this  morning,  to  arrange  some  papers  referring  to 
his  own  financial  concerns.  I  find,  Mrs.  Godrick,  that 
even  in  this  unworldly,  out-of-the- world  place,  the  comforts 
of  life  must  be  '  bought  with  a  price,'  as  my  cigars  have 
taught  me,  not  always  commensurate  with  the  quality  of 
the  article." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  not  a  bit  of  it,  Captain  De  Koven. 
We  pay  for  every  article  we  consume  at  the  highest  pos- 
sible rate  for  the  poorest  possible  commodity.  And  in  the 
matter  of  cigars,  when  you  come  again  you  will  do  well 
to  take  warning,  and  bring  your  '  Havanas'  with  you. 
Most  gentlemen  do  that." 

"  I  will  bear  your  suggestion  in  mind,  Mrs.  Godrick. 
It  .is  due  to  your  olfactories  to  do  so,  for  I  am  sure  they 
must  have  been  grievously  offended  by  the  fumes  of  m'y 
villainous  tubes.  Which  way,  Lundy?" 

"  I  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  wreck-master.  I  like 
his  way  of  crossing  the  fields  and  skirting  the  pond. 
There's  pleasant  exercise  for  the  ingenuity  in  creeping 
through  the  hedges,  and  treading  in  the  right  places,  hop- 
ping from  bog  to  bog  in  the  marshes.  There's  too  little 
adventure  in  walking  the  old  beaten  paths  and  highways 
of  villages." 

So  the  three  departed,  each  his  chosen  way,  for  the 
same  destination.  De  Koven's  call  on  Evelyn  was  a  brief 
one.  The  arrangements  pertaining  to  business  were  sim- 
ple, and  soon  made,  relating  merely  to  the  best  method 
of  communicating  with  his  financial  agent,  and  of  trans- 
mitting funds  for  his  use  to  Sea-spray. 


SEA-SPRAT.  113 

Little  was  said,  for  all  were  sad.  So  many  incidents  of 
their  life  were  associated  with  the  dearly  loved  friend  about 
to  leave  them  ;  so  much  of  the  past  seemed  to  live  again 
in  the  familiar  face  so  mingled  in  their  thoughts  with  the 
recollections  of  its  history ;  so  much  that  was  pleasant, 
with  so  much  that  was  painful,  rose  up  now,  in  the  parting 
hour  so  vividly,  that  they  had  no  words  to  waste  on  trivial 
topics,  in  which  the  feeling  then  excited  had  no  interest. 
So  they  parted  with  few  words.  Ada's  tears  flowed 
silently,  and  the  parting  pressure  was  given  with  a  trem- 
bling grasp.  A  hasty  word  to  Ernest  and  Allen,  who  were 
busy  with  their  amusements  in  the  little  play-room,  and 
De  Koven  was  gone.  He  found  Hardy  and  Lundy  on  the 
Beach,  occupied  with  sundry  little  duties,  and  a  crowd  of 
lookers  on,  awaiting  the  final  effort  of  the  schooner  to  dis- 
lodge the  huge  hull  of  the  "  Orphan." 

De  Koven  had  been  so  much  on  the  Beach,  that  faces 
and  names  were  familiar,  and  he  had  strong  feelings  of 
gratitude  for  much  personal  kindness  and  professional  sym- 
pathy with  which  he  had  been  greeted  during  his  invol- 
untary stay  among  them.  Many  of  them  being  seamen  and 
shipmasters,  they  could  appreciate  the  feelings  of  one  who, 
oving  his  ship  and  his  calling,  as  all  true  sailors  do,  had 
been  cast  upon  their  shore  in  a  manner  always,  and  under 
any  circumstances,  mortifying  to  the  professional  pride  of 
a  thorough-bred  seaman. 

De  Koven  had  watched,  with  a  practised  and  critical  eye, 
the  skilful  and  courageous  manner  in  which  these  noble- 
minded  men  had  put  forth  their  energies,  and  risked  limb 
and  life  to  rescue  those  who  had  committed  themselves  to 
his  keeping,  when  skill,  and  resolute  bravery,  and  un- 
doubted seamanship,  had  alike  failed ;  and  in  proportion  to 

5* 


114  SEA-SPRAY. 

the  anxiety  and  deep  sense  of  responsibility  which  tortured 
him  in  his  helplessness,  was  the  weight  of  grateful  obliga- 
tion which  pressed  on  him  now.  They  were  men  to  whom 
a  hint  of  pecuniary  remuneration  would  have  been  a  sting- 
ing indignity,  and  by  whom  any  form  of  substantial  ac- 
knowledgment would  have  been  spurned  with  contempt. 
They  did  not  value  the  hollow  verboseness  of  spoken 
thanks.  They  had  no  studied  language  with  which  to  meet 
complimentary  and  flattering  eulogies,  which,  if  offered, 
they  despised,  but  they  did  value,  because  they  felt  its  sin- 
cerity, the  gratitude  and  unqualified  esteem  which  looked 
out  from  De  Koven's  moistened  eye,  and  spoke  in  the  cor- 
dial grasp  with  which  he  always  wrung  their  extended 
hands. 

At  home,  as  they  all  were,  in  all  matters  belonging  to  the 
sea,  there  was  always  pleasure  in  their  intelligentdiscourse; 
beyond  this,  there  was  a  never-failing  fund  of  talk,  full  of 
deep  interest  to  him,  in  subjects  where  his  own  experience 
failed,  in  the  perils,  privations  and  excitement  of  the  life 
they  had  followed,  amid  the  frozen  wastes  and  eternal 
snows,  and  voiceless  solitudes  of  the  solemn  Arctic  seas. 

To  these  tales  of  hardy  endurance  and  daring  encoun- 
ters in  the  whale-fishery,  De  Koven  had  loved  to  listen ;  for 
they  were  the  simple,  unvarnished  details  of  the  personal 
adventures,  and  doings  and  darings,  of  men  of  unquestioned 
truth  and  untarnished  integrity  of  character;  and  though 
his  own  simple,  plain-sailing  sea-life  showed  small  in  com- 
parison, and  though  he  listened  in  respectful  silence  to 
conversation  in  which  he  could  hold  but  an  interrogative 
companionship,  he  always  felt  that  hederived  not  only  pass- 
ing amusement,  but  also  much  useful  and  profitable  infor- 
mation, from  these  pleasant,  lounging  interviews  in  the  hut 


SEA-SPRAY.  115 

or  between  the  sand-banks,  on  those  sunny  winter  mornings, 
on  the  ocean  shore  of  Sea-spray. 

"  I  am  going  on  board  the  schooner,  Captain  De  Koven. 
Don't  wait  for  me  if  I  am  not  back  in  reasonable  time  for 
dinner,  for  I  may  be  detained  longer  than  I  intend." 

"  I  advise  you  to  be  expeditious,  Hardy,  for  the  clouds 
look  like  a  south-easter  in  contemplation,  and  with  the  wind 
from  that  quarter,  there'll  be  a  fine  swell  on  at  flood.  I 
don't  believe  we  shall  see  your  tracks  in  the  sand  again  to- 
day, if  you  are  long  in  coming  ashore." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  Hull,  but  I  am  not  ready  to  go 
off  yet.  Here,  you  Bob,  just  jump  into  your  wagon  and 
drive  up  to  my  house,  and  tell  them  to  send  me  the  biggest 
ham  from  the  store-room,  and  go  to  Frankey's  and  get 
twelve  dozen  eggs.  Put  on  the  string,  Bob,  and  be  back  in 
no  time,  for  I'm  in  a  blamed  hurry." 

"  He'll  have  to  be  quick,  if  you  get  aboard  and  back 
again  or  this  '  old  pup '  has  lost  his  scent  of  the  weather," 
interposed  Hull. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  that ;  they've  nothing  to  eat  on  board 
that  craft,  and  there's  no  coasting  Long  Island  without  grub. 
If  I  can't  get  ashore  I  can  stand  on  with  the  schooner,  and 
take  the  sails  back,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  go  on  board  at  all,  Hardy  ?"  asked 
De  Koven,  who,  considering  Hardy  a  landsman,  feared 
that  an  unpremeditated  sea  voyage  in  rough  weather  might 
not  be  very  pleasant. 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  ever  necessary  to  attend  to  one's  especial 
duties.  It  is  my  duty  to  settle  some  matters  of  business, 
and  to  see  to  their  personal  comforts  on  board  that  schoon- 
er, before  she  sails,  if  it  costs  me  a  trip  to  the  city.  So 
here  comes  Bob,  with  the  eatables.  Have  you  got  the 
ham?" 


116  SEA-SPRAT. 

"You'd  think  so,  I  guess,  if  you'd  backed  the 'tarnal 
great  thing  down  two  flight  of  stairs,"  replied  Bob,  as  he 
shrugged  his  head  and  shoulders. 

"  And  the  eggs  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  have  got  the  eggs,  real  shanghais,  six  to 
the  pound.  Got  'em,  indeed! — did  you  ever  hear  of 
Frankey's  failing  to  have  a  thing  when  it  was  most  wanted  ? 
Cash  article,  too?"  y 

"  I  say,  Commodore,  hold  on  a  minute,"  said  Hull,  calling 
after  Hardy  as  he  was  hurrying  to  the  boat.  "  If  you  go 
on  board  you'll  see  spires  before  you  see  Sea-spray  again 
— keep  pretty  close,  or  Barnum  will  have  you  caged." 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Hull,  I'll  be  fair  with  you,  and  tell 
him  honestly,  if  he  wants  the  ISea-spray  jack-knife,  he'll 
find  it  in  your  pocket."  So  saying,  Hardy  stepped  into  the 
boat  which  was  waiting  his  bidding,  and  was  rowed  to  the 
schooner. 

The  final  effort  was  now  put  forth,  and  with  a  fresh 
south-east  wind,  and  the  tide  at  the  top  of  the  flood,  to  add 
impetus  to  the  force  skilfully  brought  to  bear  upon  her,  the 
ship  swung  heavily  round,  and  again  floated  free  on  the 
wave.  Cheer  after  cheer  rang  long  and  loud  over  the  sea 
at  this  prosperous  result.  Congratulations  and  "  God 
speeds  "  followed  her  as  she  floated  away  in  the  wake  of 
her  lighter-moulded  companion  ;  and  friendly  hands  were 
extended  to  meet  the  grasp  of  De  Koven,  with  honest  and 
true-hearted  joy  in  his  joy. 

But  the  wind  gradually  increased  to  a  roaring  gale,  and 
communication  with  the  shore  was  out  of  the  question 
All  business  at  the  Beach  was  at  an  end,  the  crowd  dis- 
persed to  their  homes,  and  Lundy  and  De  Koven  once 
more  took  their  way  to  their  pleasant  quarters  at  Hardy's, 


SEA-SPRAY.  117 

regretting  sincerely  the  constrained  absence  of  their  frank 
and  agreeable  host. 

"I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Godrick,  that  we  are  not  to  have 
Captain  Hardy's  company  to  dinner  this  evening;  but  he 
had  business  with  the  schooner,  and  has  taken  passage 
with  her  to  the  city." 

Mrs.  Godrick  paled  a  little  at  De  Koven's  words,  for  she 
had  a  mother's  affection  for  her  brother,  and  had  watched 
with  the  authority  which  her  many  years'  seniority  gave 
her,  and  with  the  tenderness  of  true  sisterly  love,  over  the 
infancy,  boyhood,  and  youth  of  the  motherless  boy  ;  and  it 
was  the  correct  principles  she  so  carefully  instilled,  and  the 
nice  training  she  so  patiently  carried  out,  which  had,  in  a 
great  measure,  made  his  manhood  what  it  was.  Mrs. 
Godrick  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the  old-school  Sea-spray 
lady.  Intellectually  above  the  cast  of  her  acquaintances 
generally,  she  had  given  much  of  her  leisure  time  to  read- 
ing, somewhat  indiscriminately,  perhaps,  but  under  the 
guidance  of  a  taste,  if  not  fastidious,  delicate  and  generally 
correct,  and  had  a  fund  of  all  sorts  of  light  literature,  upon 
which  she  could  always  draw  for  something  apropos  to  the 
subjects  under  discussion.  Scrupulous  in  her  punctilious 
observance  of  all  the  proprieties  and  courtesies  of  social  and 
neighborhood  intercourse,  and  never  forgetful  of  the  nice 
and  nun-like  delicacy  which  shrouds  the  .character  of  a 
true  woman,  she  was,  nevertheless,  a  sprightly  and  amusing 
companion,  with  a  strong,  self-relying,  masculine,  indepen- 
dent tone  of  thought  and  speech,  which  was  not  without 
its  charm. 

The  evening  had  set  in  dark  and  tempestuous,  and  it  was 
not  without  something  of  a  shadow  on  her  usually  bright 
and  cheerful  face,  that  Mrs.  Godrick  took  her  seat  and  pre- 


118  SEA-SPBAY. 

pared  to  do  the  honors  of  the  table,  in  the  absence  of 
her  brother.  The  wind  roared  round  the  corners  of  the 
house  in  angry  gusts,  and  occasionally  swept  over  the 
chimney,  with  a  deep  howl,  and  a  peal  like  thunder. 

Mrs.  Godrick  set  down  her  cup,  its  contents  untasted, 
and  drew  a  long  breath,  with  an  inquiring  glance  at 
De  Koven. 

"  A  fresh  breeze,  Mrs.  Godrick,  nothing  more,  take  the 
word  of  a  sailor  who  would  not  deceive  you.  It's  a  noisy 
braggart  about  buildings  and  over  chimney-tops,  but  just 
the  fellow  to  make  do  our  bidding,  under  proper  restrictions, 
on  the  sea.  You  need  not  distress  yourself  in  the  least. 
It  is  rough,  I  admit,  but  it  is  not  cold,  nor  in  any  way 
unmanageable.  They  are  at  home  along  the  Island  coast, 
and  know  every  inch  of  the  way,  and  every  bend  of  the 
shore,  as  well  as  you  know  the  way  to  your  pantry,  or  the 
steps  to  your  cellar.  Believe  me,  you  may  be  easy. 
What  say  you,  Lundy  ?" 

"  Just  what  you  say,  with  this  qualification,  there's 
quite  enough  of  it  to  make  me  willing  it  would  not  increase. 
A  very  little  more  would  be  too  much  for  comfort,  if  not 
for  safety.  If  I  were  on  board,  I  should  not  think  of 
feeling  alarmed,  but  I  might  begin  to  debate  the  propriety 
of  cutting  adrift  the  craft  she  had  in  tow." 

"  Nonsense,  Lundy,  you  are  a  croaker,"  said  De  Koven, 
noticing,  with  regret  and  commiseration,  the  increasing 
paleness  which  Lundy's  straightforward  truthfulness  had 
called  over  the  features  of  their  anxious  hostess. 

The  meal  was  gone  through  with  in  comparative  silence, 
and,  though  the  little  work-stand  was  placed  in  its  own 
peculiar  corner,  the  patchwork  was  suffered  to  lie  unrolled 
in  the  basket,  and  the  candles  were  placed  on  the  mantel. 


SEA-SPRAY.  119 

Mrs.  Godrick  swung  herself  slowly  back  and  forth  in  her 
low  sewing-chair,  anxiously  listening  to  the  wind,  and  tap- 
ping her  feet  impatiently  on  the  floor,  in  her  nervous  and 
restless  excitement.  Greatly  to  the  relief  of  De  Koven,  a 
step  sounded  on  the  gravel-walk  in  the  yard,  and  Hull 
made  his  bow  in  the  door-way. 

"  Just  what  I  expected — no  patchwork  out,  and  Mrs. 
Godrick  in  the  fidgets.  There's  no  occasion  at  all  to  be 
alarmed.  Just  a  good  spanking  breeze  ;  a  capful  too  much 
for  fresh-water  sailors,  perhaps,  but  nothing  to  look  glum 
about.  Come,  come,  put  the  candles  on  the  stand,  and 
loose  out  the  coverlet.  The  worst  consequences  of  the 
blow  will  be  the  loss  of  an  evening's  headway  on  that  end- 
less piece  of  circumnavigation." 

Hull's  well-meant  nonsense  had  the  desired  effect.     The 
lights  were  transferred  to  the  table,  the  quilt  was  unfolded, 
and  Mrs.  Godrick  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  mysteries  o 
corner-pieces   and   center-pieces,   long    blocks   and   shor 
blocks,  triangular,  and  quadrangular,  and  octangular  frag- 
ments of  calico,  connected  artistically  with  polygons  of 
white,  making  in  its  whole  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  seams,  as 
untraceable  by  the  uninitiated  as  Robin  Hood's  race. 

Meanwhile  conversation  flowed  pleasantly  on  with 
the  three  seamen,  and  Mrs.  Godrick  almost  forgot  her 
anxiety  in  her  interest.  The  evening  glided  away  more 
cheerfully  than  its  commencement  promised,  and  Hull  took 
his  leave  at  the  orthodox  hour  of  nine,  all  time  after  that 
being  considered,  in  sober,  staid  Sea-spray,  unmistakable 
dissipation. 

The  mince-pie  and  cheese  having  been  duly  done  honor 
to,  the  household  separated  for  the  night,  in  anticipation  of 
extra  early  rising  on  the  morrow,  in  order  to  reach  the 


120  SEA-SPRAY. 

railroad  in  season  for  the  train  for  New- York.  The  storm 
spent  its  violence  during  the  night,  and  the  sun  rose  clear 
on  a  calm,  soft  morning.  Mrs.  Godrick's  delicious  break- 
fast was  duly  dispatched,  and,  after  many  interchanges  of 
cordial  and  kind  wishes  for  each  other's  happiness,  De 
Koven  and  Lundy  bade  adieu  to  Hardy's  hospitable  man- 
sion, and  Sea- spray  was  soon  left  behind. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  few  days  which  intervened  between  the  departure 
of  De  Koven  and  the  festival  of  Christmas  were  bright  and 
cold.  Evelyn  devoted  his  time  entirely  to  the  care  of  Ada 
and  Ernest ;  studying,  by  every  attention,  to  soothe,  cheer 
and  amuse  them.  With  Ernest  the  task  was  not  a  difficult 
one,  for  his  gentle,  affectionate  nature,  met  with  grateful 
appreciation  every  act  and  effort  put  forth  in  his  behalf; 
and  the  light  brightened  in  his  mild  eyes,  and  the  glow  of 
returning  health  deepened  on  his  fair  cheek,  while  the  buoy- 
ancy natural  to  his  years  burst  sometimes  joyously  over  his 
lips.  It  was  an  unwonted  sound,  and  it  came  like  glad- 
dening music  to  his  father's  heart.  The  hours  which  Allen 
spent  in  school  were  devoted  by  Evelyn  to  the  instruction 
of  his  son,  in  those  studies  appropriate  to  his  years — a  course 
which  he  had  always  pursued  with  him — preferring  his  own 
system  of  home  education,  to  the  too  general  practice  of 
sending  forth  young  and  pure-minded  boys  to  meet  the 
contaminating  influences  of  public  and  not  very  select 
schools.  Ernest  was  an  apt  scholar,  and  proficient  in  all 
the  studies  he  had  yet  attempted.  Fond  of  reading,  and 
with  a  well-directed  taste,  he  had  mental  acquirements 
beyond  those  usually  attained  at  his  age ;  and  always  an 
eager  and  attentive  listener  when  his  father  read  aloud  his 


122  SEA-SPRAY. 

favorite  authors,  he  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of  language, 
and  a  fund  of  general  literary  information,  which,  buried  deep 
in  his  quiet  little  heart,  was  his,  though  unrevealed.  With 
the  soft  simplicity  of  a  more  than  ordinarily  child-like  dis- 
position and  manner,  he  had  the  deep  reflections  and  ma- 
ture strength  of  thought,  which  sometimes  struck  as  pain- 
fully unnatural  upon  his  hearers,  when  he  gravely  and 
innocently  gave  them  utterance.  Evelyn  was  aware  of 
this  peculiarity,  which  was  often  strikingly  apparent,  and 
he  hailed  with  delight  every  manifestation  of  pleasure  in 
the  usual  sports  and  amusements  of  boyhood,  almost  wish- 
ing, at  times,  to  discover  some  approach  to  roguishness  or 
mischief  in  his  glee. 

Since  the  explanatory  conversation  between  Ada  and 
her  husband,  she  had  been  less  absorbed  with  her  own  emo- 
tions and  thoughts,  less  absent  and  inattentive,  and  had 
made  a  strenuous  effort  to  be  cheerful  and  at  ease — mani- 
festing an  affectionate  and  acquiescing  interest  in  all  Eve- 
lyn's plans,  and  propositions  for  occupation  and  amusement, 
assisting  Ernest  in  his  lessons,  reading  to  him  when  he  was 
weary,  telling  him  interesting  stories,  watching  his  out-of- 
door  sports  with  Allen  with  amused  interest,  and  rejoicing 
with  Evelyn  over  his  amending  health. 

To  the  family  with  whom  she  was  domesticated,  Ada 
was  an  interesting  and  pleasant  companion,  entering  with 
ease  and  familiarity  into  conversation  on  all  subjects  of  in- 
terest, which  formed  the  prevailing  topics  of  the  day,  and 
asking  many  questions  with  regard  to  the  character,  cus- 
toms, and  peculiarities  of  the  people,  among  whom  it  was 
their  present  determination  to  make  for  themselves  a  plea- 
sant and  permanent  home.  Never  gay — never  light  and 
laughter-loving — but  gentle,  mournful,  thoughtful  and  sub- 


SEA-SPRAY.  123 

dued  in  her  whole  tone  and  manner,  she  often  sought  the 
society  of  the  family  in  their  private  apartments,  and  looked 
on  with  curious  attention  while  they  were  busied  in  the 
discharge  of  various  domestic  duties. 

To  her  Dury  was  a  study.  Unaccustomed  to  the  pecu- 
liar and  melancholy  tones  of  voice,  to  the  uniform,  steady 
and  quiet  movement  with  which  Dury  went  on  in  her 
undeviating  course,  she  liked  to  sit  quietly  in  the  cook's 
undisputed  territory,  the  kitchen,  and  hold  with  her  such 
talk  as  she  could  elicit  from  her  slow  and  taciturn  nature  ; 
while  to  Dury  the  soft,  sweet  voice,  and  sad,  pale  face  of 
the  gentle  stranger,  had  a  strange  and  winning  charm. 
Ada  liked  to  talk  with  her  of  her  home,  of  the  green  hills, 
and  the  fertile  fields  of  solemn,  solitary  old  Montauk — for 
Dury  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  a  race  of  kings,  her  father 
having  been  the  last  acknowledged  chief  of  the  royal  name  • 
of  Pharo.  The  tribe  had  sunk  under  the  encroachments 
of  rapacious  civilization,  aided  by  the  exterminating  and 
degrading  eagerness  with  which  the  degenerate  children  of 
a  slain  and  trampled  people  had  succumbed  to  the  fiend  of 
intemperance. 

All  pretensions  to  chieftainship  or  kingly  dignity  had 
long  since  been  abandoned.  The  family  last  claiming  pre- 
cedence, now  nearly  extinct,  had  forsaken  the  home  of  their 
fathers ;  and  the  few  remaining  "  rights"  still  claimed  by 
the  tribe,  vested  in  the  oldest  full-blooded  Indian,  without 
regard  to  descent  or  family — seniority,  without  taint  of 
amalgamation,  being  the  test  of  succession. 

Poor  Dury  had  little  national  pride,  but  she  remembered 
the  palmy  days  when  her  father  was  king — when  the  tribe 
was  numerous,  and  their  rights  much  more  extensive  and 
undisputed  ;  and  she  felt  the  family  if  not  the  national  de- 


124  SEA-SPRAY. 

gradation.  So  she  would  sit  in  her  chosen  seat,  under  the 
oven,  and  weave  long  legends  of  the  days  she  remembered, 
and  of  those  dim  and  shadowy  periods,  far  away  in  the 
glorious  past,  of  which  she  had  heard  many  and  marvelous 
traditions  from  the  long  since  passed  away  patriarchs  and 
prophetesses  of  her  people.  Her  soft,  low  voice,  in  its  mo- 
notonous and  musical  mournfulness,  had  a  soothing  and 
tranquilizing  power  over  Ada  ;  and  a  long,  social  visit  to 
Dury,  in  the  glimmering  twilight,  within  the  deep  jambs  of 
the  great  kitchen  fire-place,  became  one  of  her  especial  en- 
joyments. With  her  little  cushioned  seat  carefully  adjusted 
in  the  corner  opposite  to  Dury's,  into  which,  by  common 
consent,  no  one  ever  intruded,  while  Dury  roasted  her 
coffee,  or  beat  her  breakfast  cakes,  or  pared  her  apples, 
would  Ada  sit,  and  indulge,  if  such  was  her  mood,  in  long, 
undisturbed  reveries,  or  draw  out,  from  the  hidden  treasures 
of  Dury's  untutored  mind,  much  curious  matter  for  thought 
— for  Dury's  thoughts  were  her  own.  Books  were  to  her 
sealed  fountains  of  knowledge,  from  which  she  could  not 
drink ;  consequently  her  imaginings  flowed  in  channels 
purely  original,  cutting  their  own  way,  without  being  con- 
fused by  meeting  and  mingling  streams,  and  without  being 
exercised  and  agitated  by  the  conflicting  opinions  and  doc- 
trines of  schools  and  systems,  of  which  she  had  never  heard. 
Dury  had  a  philosophy  of  her  own,  which  always  stood  her 
instead,  and  a  faith  of  her  own,  with  which  speculative 
disquisitions  had  never  meddled.  She  believed  devoutly 
what  she  did  believe.  She  believed  that  if  she  dropped  her 
dish-cloth  a  stranger  would  visit  the  domicil.  She  believed, 
if  the  lord  of  the  barn-yard  harem  gave  voice  to  a  swagger- 
ing crow  on  the  door-step,  that  a  troop  of  company  would 
inevitably  follow ;  and  she  had  a  trembling  and  horrified 


SEA-SPRAY.  125 

faith  in  an  impending  death  in  the  house,  near  which  was 
heard  the  cry  of  the  mourning  dove  ;  and  many  have  been 
the  precipitately  improvised  bakings  consequent  upon  a 
chance  challenge  from  the  strutting  champion  of  "Biddy's 
rights ;"  and  many  the  unaccountable  manifestations  of 
solemn  tenderness  she  has  bestowed  upon  her  friends,  in 
her  perplexed  dubiety  as  to  who  was  the  object  designated 
by  the  wailing  omen  of  the  dove. 

Of  religious  enlightenment  Dury  was  innocent,  so  far  as 
instruction  in  any  established  creed  or  form  of  worship  was 
concerned;  but  she  had  unshaken  faith,  without  any  en- 
lightened belief,  in  a  creating  and  superintending  Provi- 
dence, in  future  punishment  of  sin,  and  rewarding  of  humble 
well-doing.  And,  though  her  faith  did  not  always  produce 
corresponding  practice,  she  nevertheless  had  faith  enough 
to  fear  the  wrath,  and  to  love  the  beneficent  attributes,  of 
her  Maker  ;  and  she  said  her  prayers  after  her  own  simple 
fashion,  or  she  could  not  have  hoped  to  sleep  unmolested  by 
actual  and  corporeal  visitations  of  the  presence  of  Cheepi. 

To  Ernest  and  Allen,  Dury's  ministrations  were  particu- 
larly available  in  the  matters  of  roasting  apples,  and  boiling 
and  drawing  of  molasses  candy — in  both  of  which  she  was 
an  acknowledged  proficient ;  and  they  would  enter  into  a 
compact  with  her  for  an  interchange  of  services,  she  silently 
superintending  the  boiling  of  the  swelling  and  troublesome 
treacle,  while  they  alternately  discharged  the  duty  com- 
pounded for,  of  reading  aloud  such  books  as  suited  her 
taste  and  reached  her  capacity — "  Peter  Wilkins"  and  his 
winged  wife  being  the  prime  favorite — always  listened  to 
with  breathless,  but  never  incredulous  wonder. 

The  frying  of  doughnuts,  too,  was  one  of  the  kitchen  fes- 
tivals, over  which  Dury  was  the  presiding  divinity,  and  in 


126  SEA-SPRAY. 

the  bustling  solemnities  of  which  Allen  and  Ernest  were 
particularly  zealous  to  assist,  holding  candle  and  platter 
while  Dury  gave  the  kettle  a  practised  professional  shake, 
or  skimmed  out  the  soft,  spongy  brown  balls,  with  a  pleased 
spreading  of  features,  at  times  almost  a  smile,  meeting  in 
return  many  mouldings  of  caricatured  men,  with  bloated 
limbs,  and  squat  bodies,  and  swollen  knobs  of  heads,  with 
all  sorts  of  phrenological  developments,  which  they  had 
great  glee  in  dissecting.  So  the  days  and  the  evenings 
sped  pleasantly  away,  and  the  morrow  was  Christmas. 

Evelyn  was  writing  in  his  room.  The  Colonel  had  gone 
to  the  post-office.  Allen  and  Ernest  were  holding  much  pri- 
vate consultation  with  Dury,  in  her  department,  concern- 
ing sundry  forthcoming  packages,  to  be  mysteriously  con- 
veyed through  her  agency  to  their  playmates  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  and  Ada  was  in  the  little  family  sitting-room, 
with  Alice  and  Leena,  dreamy,  and  drooping,  and  sad. 
When  unrestrained  by  the  presence  of  her  husband,  Ada 
dwelt  often,  and  with  much  emotion,  upon  her  early  asso- 
ciations and  her  childhood's  home — subjects  in  his  hearing 
never  touched — speaking  with  choking  agitation  of  the 
quiet  little  church  in  one  of  the  remote  rural  districts  of 
England,  in  which  she  had  been  presented  for  the  holy 
sacrament  of  baptism  ;  where,  in  the  freshness  of  her  joyous 
girlish  childhood,  she  had  come  forward  for  the  solemn  rite  of 
confirmation,  ratifying  and  acknowledging,  in  the  presence 
of  God,  the  holy  vows  that  were  now  her  own ;  and  where, 
with  deep  and  reverential  awe  in  her  heart,  she  first  knelt 
at  the  holy  table,  and  received  from  her  father's  hand  the 
blessed  symbols  of  her  Saviour's  dying  and  redeeming 
love.  She  spoke  of  the  pleasant  Rectory,  with  its  em- 
bowering trees  ;  the  fair  and  fertile  glebe,  with  its  cultured 


SEA-SPRAT.  127 

fields,  its  shady  sylvan  walks,  its  sunny  hills,  and  its  spark- 
ling little  streams  glistening  and  gliding  noiselessly  between 
them.  Of  places  and  things  she  would  speak,  as  if  with 
feelings  of  loving  and  lingering  interest ;  of  persons  or 
people,  if  ever,  hastily  and  evasively,  explaining  her  avoid- 
ance of  all  allusion  to  early  friends  and  attachments 
in  Evelyn's  presence,  by  remarking  to  him  that  it  was 
galling  to  him  to  hear  it,  and  that  he  always  felt,  if  she 
dwelt  much  upon  old  associations,  that  she  was  not  happy 
with  him,  but  was  pining  for  home  and  home-born  and  re- 
gretted enjoyments. 

"  It  would  hardly  seem,"  said  Alice,  in  reply  to  Ada's 
remarks — "  it  would  hardly  seem  that  such  an  idea  would 
give  him  pain,  he  is  so  fondly  indulgent,  his  means  so  unre- 
stricted, and  communication  between  the  countries,  at  the 
present  day,  attended  with  so  few  inconveniences  or 
annoyances.  The  feeling  is  so  natural,  that  not  to  have  it 
would  seem  heartlessly  unnatural ;  and  I  am  sure  he  would 
be  more  than  willing  to  gratify  it.  Why  don't  you  return, 
or,  at  least,  visit  your  former  home  ?" 

"  God  forbid  it !  Never ! — never !"  exclaimed  Ada,  lifting 
her  hands,  as  if  to  ward  off  some  terrible  thought ;  then, 
more  calmly  continuing  :  "  It  would  kill  me.  Another  in- 
cumbent holds  my  father's  living ;  other  faces  gather  round 
my  father's  hearth ;  other  hearts  beat  happily  now,  over 
which  I  should  bring  but  an  unwelcome  shadow,  and  the 
Rectory  can  never  more  be  my  home.  Not  for  worlds  would 
I  visit  it.  Besides,  I  have  an  unconquerable  horror  of 
crossing  the  sea." 

Ada  rose,  and  taking  the  papers  which  had  been  brought 
in  by  the  evening's  mail,  retired  to  her  own  room. 

"  There  is  something  1  can't  fathom  about  that  woman," 
said  Alice,  musingly,  after  Ada  had  left. 


128  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Then  she  must  be  deep,"  replied  Leena,  giving  the  fire 
an  enlivening  punch,  "for  I  always  thought  you  had  a 
keen  eye  for  looking  through  millstones ;  but  I  can't  see  so 
great  a  difference  between  coasting  the  continent  of  North 
America  and  crossing  the  Atlantic.  I  should  think  the 
choice  was  in  favor  of  crossing,  in  a  well-appointed 
steamer,  rather  than  coasting  from  port  to  port  along  the 
Atlantic  board,  in  an  ordinary  sailing  trader." 

"  I  don't  understand  her,  she  is  so  variable  and  incon- 
sistent in  her  moods — so  mild  and  apparently  unresisting, 
— and  at  the  same  time,  if  her  own  feelings  are  touched,  or 
crossed,  so  imperious,  and  so  bitterly  stinging  in  her 
uncalled-for  retorts.  She  calls  forth  my  pity  sometimes, 
but  there  is  that  about  her  which  repels  my  love." 

There  was,  indeed,  that  about  Ada  calculated  to  chill  all 
fond  and  gentle  attachments,  and  deeply  and  sorely  did 
Evelyn  feel  it.  The  grief  which  had  opened  and  softened 
his  heart  towards  every  sentient  living  thing,  seemed  to 
have  had  a  directly  opposite  effect  upon  hers.  There  was 
an  asperity  of  tone  and  an  irascibility  of  temper,  evidently 
increasing,  embittering  much  of  the  peace  of  their  fireside 
intercourse — a  sort  of  morbid  feeling,  that  everything 
pleasant  and  joyous  was  mockery  of  her  sorrow,  and  that 
every  caress  or  indulgence  bestowed  upon  Ernest,  was 
defrauding  Edith  in  her  grave  of  her  meed  of  tributary 
tears.  It  was  vain  to  combat  her  impatient  querulousness 
with  soothing  or  argument ;  and  from  the  subduing  and 
consoling  influences  of  religion,  which,  in  its  peace-giving 
and  purifying  blessedness,  Evelyn  often  sought  to  present 
to  her  consideration,  she  obstinately  turned  away  her 
eyes.  Shutting  up  her  heart  in  cold  repulsiveness  from 
his  sympathy,  shrinking  with  shuddering  aversion  from 


SEA  SPKAY.  129 

his  affectionate  caress,  yet  loving  him,  it  would  seem,  with 
a  deep  and  idolatrous  love,  and  deprecating  and  dreading 
his  displeasure  with  vehement  and  touching  appeal,  she 
was  a  riddle  in  her  contradictions,  which  the  anxious  and 
aching  heart  of  her  husband  sought  painfully  but  fruitlessly 
to  solve. 

But  it  was  Christmas  Eve.  Ernest  and  Allen,  with 
Dury's  consent  and  co-operation,  had  rolled  in  the  im- 
mense Yule  log,  which  now,  thoroughly  ignited,  was 
sending  its  cheerful  glow  over  the  capacious  jambs,  and  up 
the  great  cavernous  throat  of  the  old  kitchen  chimney. 
The  table  was  drawn  forward  in  the  light  of  the  pleasant 
blaze,  and  the  various  amusements  which  were  to  enliven 
the  evening  were  under  discussion,  when  a  thundering 
knock,  which  made  the  house  ring,  heralded  the  entrance  of 
a  huge  Christmas-box,  not  unworthy  such  a  noisy  precur- 
sor. Captain  Hardy  had  arrived  in  the  evening  boat, 
bearing  letters  and  remittances  to  Evelyn,  and  the  liberal 
token  of  remembrance  and  Christmas  cheer  to  the  boys, 
from  De  Koven.  Allen's  hammer  and  chisel  were  speedily 
in  requisition,  and  eager  little  heads  bent  in  delighted  im- 
patience over  the  box,  from  which  Dury's  stout  hands  had 
removed  the  cover.  It  had  been  filled  by  no  niggard  hand, 
from  the  resources  of  a  market  in  which  money  is  the 
Aladdin's  lamp,  producing  all  that  the  imagination  can  ask, 
almost  before  the  desire  is  uttered.  Great  was  the  glee  in 
unpacking ;  and  often,  during  the  process,  -were  blessings 
invoked  on  the  head  of  the  generous  donor,  while  all  the 
household  were  summoned  with  noisy  acclamations,  to 
witness  and  share  in  the  joy  and  its  occasion  : — toys, 
books,  fruits,  confections,  and  the  never-failing  knicker- 

6 


130  SEA-SPRAY. 

bockers,  without  which,  in  Gotham,  Christmas  would 
hardly  be  Christmas. 

But  joy  is  not  joy,  if  it  has  not  sharers — at  least 
so  felt  Ernest  and  Allen  ;  and  a  host  of  smiling,  happy 
little  faces  were  soon  gathered  on  short  summons  round 
the  table,  loaded  with  its  tempting  stores  for  food  and 
frolic. 

Leaving  Dury  to  keep  order,  the  older  members  of  the 
household  retired  to  their  own  pursuits — Evelyn  to  his 
papers  and  letters,  and  Ada  to  the  perusal  of  a  work  of 
fiction,  in  which  it  was  now  her  whim  to  be  deeply  ab- 
sorbed, partly  perhaps  because  it  served  as  a  pretext  for 
unsocial  silence,  and  partly  because  it  purported  to  involve 
high  and  important  principles  for  the  consideration  of  re- 
forming philanthropists,  who,  in  their  meddling  and  mis- 
chievous zeal,  are  not  unlike  the  venerable  old  lady  cele- 
brated in  the  anecdotical  annals  of  Sea-spray,  who,  having 
no  fire  of  her  own  to  attend  to,  was  always  dropping  her 
pudding  into  other  people's  pots,  slyly  slipping  in  when  her 
neighbor  was  busy  with  her  own  proper  business,  causing 
many  a  sputtering  overboil,  and  quenching  many  a  brisk 
little  blaze  with  untold  waste  of  ''  skimmings." 

"  Oh,  father,  father,  do  come  down — mother  do  come 
and  let  me  tell  your  fortunes ;  do  come  and  see  what  a 
beautiful  little  "  Fairy  "  Clarence  has  sent  us,  and  how 
nice  she  tells  fortunes.  Come,  we've  all  had  our  fortunes 
told,  and  they  are  so  funny." 

Ernest  had  no  need  to  plead  so  earnestly  ;  for  Evelyn,  to 
whom  a  glad  look  on  the  face  of  his  child  was  worth  all 
the  news  of  a  dozen  arrivals,  had  put  aside  his  paper,  and 
stood  ready  to  accompany  him  to  consult  his  oracle.  Ada 
also,  though  not  so  cheerfully,  obeyed  his  summons.  With 


SEA-SPRAY.  131 

a  peevish  "  what  nonsense  is  on  the  carpet  now  ?"  she  laid 
down  her  book  in  the  midst  of  ~a  scene  full  of  horrors 
heavily  laid  on,  and  followed  to  the  kitchen.  Peals  of 
laughter  rung  out  clear,  fresh  from  the  happy  hearts  of  the 
group  of  rosy  children  gathered  round  the  whirling  Sibyl, 
who,  with  her  slender  ivory  wand,  pointed  to  the  figures  on 
the  circular  dial,  stopping  at  the  number  designating  the 
card  on  which  was  recorded  the  answer  of  the  oracle  to 
the  person  consulting  her.  Evelyn  looked  on,  pleased  in 
the  pleasure  he  witnessed,  and  amused  with  the  play  so 
amusing  to  the  •  eager  little  participants,  who,  with  hands 
full  of  candy  and  eyes  full  of  mirth,  watched  the  cards  as 
they  were  pointed  out  for  their  mates,  and  laughed,  let  them 
say  what  they  would. 

"  Now,  papa,"  said  Ernest,  "  I  will  try  my  fortune,  and 
you  shall  read  it."  So  Ernest  gave  the  dial  a  whirl,  and 
Evelyn  read  the  response,  thus  : 

Go  forth,  with  bold,  brave  heart  to  meet 
Whate'er  the  future  brings  ; 
Nor  dread  the  shadowy  shapes  that  sleep 
Beneath  Fate's  folded  wings. 

Go  forth,  resisting  ruthless  wrong, 
In  conscious  duty's  might, 
In  thine  own  steadfast  purpose  strong, 
To  battle  for  the  right. 

Go  forth,  with  high  and  holy  aim, 
Before  thine  earnest  eye, 
Prepared,  if  Truth  thine  efforts  claim, 
To  dare,  endure,  and  die. 

"  That's  a  good  fortune,  papa,  ain't  it  ?"  said  Ernest,  as 
his  father  finished. 

"  Certainly,  my  son,  certainly,  if  followed  out  as  I  hope 


132  SEA-SPRAY. 

and  trust  it  will  be.  Oo  you  think  you  can  do  all  that  it 
enjoins?" 

"  Not  in  my  own  strength,  papa  ;  you  have  taught  me 
better  than  to  think  that ;  but  I  can  try,  and  with  God's 
blessing  I  can  do." 

Evelyn  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  his  boy  without  a 
word,  and  Allen  took  his  turn,  Evelyn  reading  the  answer 
for  him,  as  for  Ernest. 

Nay,  ask  not  what  thy  fate  shall  be, 
Thou  shapest  thine  own  destiny, 
If  o'er  thy  spirit,  purpose  high 
And  proud  resolve  hold  mastery  ; 

If,  scorning  shame,  and  spurning  sin, 
Then  shinest  truth  thy  soul  within, 
Nor  ban  nor  blight  shall  come  to  thee 
To  darken  thy  futurity. 

Nor  poverty  thy  footsteps  haunt, 
That  meagre  spectre,  grim  and  gaunt ; 
But  plenty  shall  thy  path  attend, 
And  peace  above  thy  pillow  bend. 

"  There,  Allen,"  said  Ernest,  "  you  have  had  a  better  for- 
tune than  I  have,  for  you  are  promised  all  sorts  of  pleasant 
things,  while  I  have  only  to  do,  and  dare,  and  die." 

"Not  so,  Ernest,"  said  Evelyn.  "You  are  only  bid  to 
dare  all  things,  even  death,  in  a  true  and  righteous  cause — 
in  other  words,  never  to  shrink  from  duty.  You  would 
not  think  that  a  good  fortune  which  could  tempt  you  to  do 
that,  would  you,  my  boy  ?" 

"  Now,  papa,  you  shall  try  what  Fairy  will  tell  you.  Oh, 
I  do  hope  you  will  get  something  good.  Come,  now,  give 
t  a  whirl." 


SEA-SPRAY.  133 

Evelyn  did  so,  and  Ernest  read — 

Speak  not  an  angry  word, 
Let  not  your  heart  be  stirred 

To  fire-side  strife ; 
But  work,  with  patient  zeal, 
For  home,  and  household  weal. 
Buy,  borrow,  beg  or  steal, 

Risk  limb  or  life, 
Encounter  aches  and  ills, 
Dare  fevers,  laugh  at  chills, 
Take  salts  or  Brandreth's  pills, 

War  to  the  knife 
'Gainst  fretfulness  and  care, 
But  never,  never  dare, 
With  bitter,  taunting  air, 
Speak  words  you  well  might  spare, 
Cold,  caustic,  and  unfair, 

To  wound  your  wife. 

Evelyn  laughed  at  the  unneeded  warning  of  the  Sybil, 
while  Ernest  insisted  that  it  was  very  bad,  for  he  said  he 
knew  "  his  papa  would  never  steal ;  and,  if  nobody  ever 
spoke  unkind  words  to  mother  till  he  did,  she  would  never 
be  wounded." 

"  Come,  mother,  now  you  are  the  next,  and  then  dear, 
good,  patient  Dury  shall  have  the  best  fortune  in  the  lot." 

Ada  objected  to  making  an  exhibition  of  herself;  but  at 
length  came  forward,  and  gave  the  little  dial  an  impatient 
whirl,  and  Ernest  read,  greatly  to  his  exultation,  the  card 
she  drew : 

Matron  modest,  meek  and  fair, 
Light  shall  fall  the  feet  of  care 
On  thy  pure,  pale,  placid  brow, 
Serene  in  soft,  sweet  beauty  now, 
Softly,  on  each  shining  tress, 
Time's  transforming  hand  shall  press, 


134  SEA-SPRAY. 

Gliding  o'er,  with  scarce  a  trace, 
Touching,  but  with  soft'ning  grace. 
Lovelier  than  in  rosy  youth, 
In  thy  calm,  unquestioned  truth, 
He,  whose  home  thy  virtues  bless, 
Surely  ne'er  can  love  thee  less.  , 

"Scarcely  more,"  said  Evelyn,  turning  with  an  affec- 
tionate look  towards  Ada,  who  walked  disdainfully  away, 
while  Ernest  and  Allen  coaxed  Dury  to  try  her  fortune. 
Dury  exclaiming,  as  she  came  reluctantly  out  from  her  seat 
on  the  stairs,  the  blazing  yule-log  having  compelled  her  to 
vacate  her  favorite  position — 

"  Whu ;  oh,  guh !  old  squaw's  fortune  come  long  ago. 
No  house,  no  home,  no  houzen  stuff,  no  Ingin,  no  nothin'." 
But  Dury  put  her  hand  to  the  dial,  and  Allen  read  : 

Good  Dury,  fate  sends  you  all  sorts  of  good  wishes, 
Rich,  racy  and  rare,  like  your  own  savory  dishes  ; 
Your  bread  shall  be  whitest,  your  biscuits  the  best, 
Your  sponge-cake  the  lightest  that  cook  ever  blessed  ; 
No  witches  shall  ever  play  pranks  in  your  churn, 
Nor  the  cakes  on  your  griddle,  stick,  blacken  or  burn  ; 
Your  dips  shall  burn  steady,  no  thief  in  the  wick, 
And  the  soap  in  your  kettles  come  ropy  and  quick  ; 
Good  luck  shall  attend  when  you  bake,  boil  or  stew, 
And  success  crown  your  efforts,  whatever  you  do. 

Dury  almost  laughed  at  her  promised  good  fortune,  her 
greatest  emotions  of  merriment  being  demonstrated  by 
spasmodic  tossings  £nd  throwings  of  her  head,  resembling 
the  efforts  of  an  indignant  cow  endeavoring  to  rid  her  horns 
of  a  husk.  The  boys  continued  to  amuse  themselves,  and 
Ernest  came  playfully  round  to  his  mother,  with  his  thin, 
slender  arm  thrown  lovingly  over  her  shoulder,  whispering, 

"  Did  not  I  read  you  a  good  fortune,  mother  ?  growing 
better  and  more  beautiful  as  you  get  to'tbe  a  little  old  lady." 


SEA-SPRAY.  135 

"  Don't  bore  me  with  any  more  of  your  insufferable  non- 
sense, but  go  and  play  the  fool  with  your  noisy  mates." 

Why  did  the  shadow  darken  on  Ada's  brow,  and  the 
color  fade  from  her  cheek  and  lip,  as  she  turned  and  took 
her  way  to  her  own  room  ?  The  arrow  had  sped  home. 
The  shadow  was  on  the  loving  heart  of  the  gentle  boy,  and 
his  lip  quivered  as  he  met  the  glance  of  his  father  turned 
upon  him. 

"Ernest,"  said  Allen,  kindly,  for  he  had  learned  to  read 
his  countenance,  and  had  heard  the  stinging  rebuke  which 
had  wounded  him.  "  Ernest,  I  see  you  are  tired  with  our 
noise  ;  we  will  be  more  quiet,  and  I  will  put  up  all  the 
things  nice  and  safe.  Sit  down  and  rest." 

"I  am  not  tired  of  play,  but  my  head  aches,"  replied 
Ernest,  putting  his  hand  on  his  heart  instead  of  his  head. 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  he,  bursting  into  tears,  as  Evelyn  put 
his  arm  around  him.  "  Oh,  papa,  I  was  taking  so  much 
comfort ;  and  before  all  the  boys,  too.  It  was  cruel,  for  I 
thought  mother  was  pleased,  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Never  mind,  my  son,"  whispered  Evelyn ;  "  never 
mind.  We  must  be  patient,  and  not  let  such  things  dis- 
tress us.  Poor  mother  is  nervous,  and  we  must  remember 
she  was  not  always  so  irritable.  It  was  cruel,  Ernest — I 
felt  it  so  ;  but  we  must  take  it  coolly.  When  she  is  in  bet- 
ter health,  she  will  be  again  her  better  self.  Don't  play  too 
long,  boys,  and  tire  yourselves  out  to-night,  for  you  have  a 
great  play  day  before  you  to-morrow.  Merry  Christmas, 
and  full  stockings,  to  you  all." 

So  Evelyn  bade  them  good-night,  and  left  them  to  their 
sports. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  Evelyn  returned  to  his  apartment,  he  found  Ada 
bending  over  her  book,  with  traces  of  recent  tears  on  her 
cheeks.  Were  they  for  the  sorrow  she  read  of,  or  the  sor- 
row she  had  caused  ?  He  sat  pondering  the  question,  but 
without  the  power  to  solve  it,  when  Ada  looked  suddenly 
up,  and  met  that  inquisitive  and  steady  gaze.  A  flush  of 
anger,  or  it  might  be  of  shame,  mounted  to  her  brow,  as 
she  threw  down  her  book  and  stood  up  confronting  him. 

"  Speak,  Walter  Evelyn  ;  what  would  you  read,  that 
you  bend  your  stern  brow  on  me  with  such  searching 
severity  ?  Speak  your  reproaches  !  Tell  me  I  am  heart- 
less and  cruel.  I  read  displeasure  in  your  face,  whatever 
you  may  read  in  your  study  of  mine.  I  own  it — 1  am 
cruel.  I  feel  it.  I  have  incurred  your  displeasure.  I 
deserve  it.  Speak ;  say  so.  I  have  no  wish  to  disarm 
you.  I  am  guilty,  guilty,"  pursued  she,  with  flashing  eyes 
and  unceasing  vehemence.  "  But  you  cannot  look  into 
my  heart;  if  you  could,  would  you  believe  the  record  there 
written  ?  Say,  Walter,  would  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  I  trust  I  should  find  nothing  so  terribly  incredible, 
Ada ;  but  I  see  no  cause  for  this  outbreak  of  passion. 
You  have  been  reading  too  steadily  that  exciting  picture 
of  horrors  which  never  had  existence.  You  are  fatigued 


SEA-SPRAY.  137 

and  peevish.     Put  your  book  away,  and  clear  your  brow 
of  that  unbecoming  shadow." 

Ada  put  away  her  book,   set  aside  the  little  table   at ' 
which  she  had  been  reading,  and  sitting  down  on  a  low 
bench  at  Evelyn's  feet,  looked  beseechingly  up  in  his  face, 
while  tears  stood  brimming  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"  Dear,  kind,  patient  Walter,  how  can  you  be  so  gentle 
and  so  forbearing  with  me,  when  I  am  so  continually  pro- 
voking and  annoying  you  ?" 

"  Not  provoking,  Ada ;  the  sting  is  deeper  than  that. 
You  do  pain  and  grieve  me,  but  there  is  no  resentment  in 
the  surprised  and  wounded  feeling  with  which  I  sometimes 
look  upon  your  varying  and  unaccountable  humors.  Not 
for  myself,  Ada,  do  I  feel  this  most  painfully ;  but  for  my 
child  I  shall  feel  compelled  to  require  and  command 
different  treatment.  How  could  you,  Ada,  his  mother, 
throw  back  his  childlike  endearments  so  cruelly  upon  his 
heart,  darkening  the  glow  on  his  sweet  young  brow,  and 
poisoning  his  pure  and  innocent  enjoyments?  How  could 
you  do  it,  Ada  ?" 

Evelyn's  voice  trembled  in  his  earnestness,  for  he  loved 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  early  love  the  fair  and  ca-~ 
pricious  being  before  him,  and  it  was  a  trying  task  to  re- 
buke and  lecture  her  with  those  moist,  mild  eyes  now  bent 
so  lovingly  upon  him.  But  he  knew  it  was  right  to  set  be- 
fore her  the  wrong  she  was  inflicting  on  her  unoffending 
child  ;  and  as  she  made  no  reply,  he  went  on  : 

"  I  was  thinking,  as  I  looked  on  you,  so  absorbed  over 
that  book,  grand  and  unequaled  I  admit  it  to  be  in  its  power- 
ful and  painful  delineations — I  was  thinking  how  strange 
that  you  could  expend  so  much  feeling  upon  objects  so  far 
removed  from  your  sphere  of  influence.  Is  it  not  a  sad 

6* 


138  SEA-SPKAY. 

waste  of  sympathy — is  it  not  a  strange,  unprofitable  outlay 
of  emotion — a  mistaken,  if  not  wicked  turning  away  from 
their  natural  and  proper  channels,  the  sweet  affections  of 
your  nature,  .giving  your  tears  and  your  kindly  com- 
miseration to  the  sufferings  of  an  unknown  race,  terrible 
and  torturing  though  they  may  be,  while  your  own  gentle 
and  loving  child,  the  only  being  on  this  wide  earth  whose 
heart's  blood  wells  up  from  the  same  fountain  with  yours, 
sits  wounded  and  heart-sore  beside  you  ?  Ada,  Ada,  it 
grieves  me  to  speak  in  such  strong  language  as  this — it 
grieves  me  beyond  my  power  to  express,  to  say  one  word 
to  pain  you.  But  you  will  think  of  it,  Ada,  my  sweet  wife  ; 
you  will  think,  and  not  resentfully,  of  this  ?" 

"I  do  think.  I  have  thought,  Walter,  till  thought  mad- 
dens me.  I  grieve  when  I  feel  that  I  have  wounded 
Ernest.  I  grieve  bitterly,  bitterly,  when  I  know  that  I 
have  offended  you.  But  oh,  Walter,  my  noble,  kind- 
hearted  husband,  if  you  knew  how  I  struggle  and  strive  to 
strangle  the  hissing  serpent  within  me — if  you  knew  how 
my  heart  sends  up  its  agonizing,  unavailing  prayer  for 
peace,  when  there  is  no  peace,  you  would  bear  with  me, 
not  more  patiently  and  kindly  than  you  do,  that  were 
needless,  but  you  would  bear  with  my  perverseness  still, 
without  seeking  to  fathom  its  cause.  You  cannot  know, 
Walter,  what  sad  associations  a  word  of  playful  fondness 
may  have  power  to  awaken.  You  cannot  know  what 
pangs  of  bitter  remembrance  a  well-meant  kindness,  or  a 
look  of  beaming  and  truthful  affection  sends  thrilling 
through  my  heart.  You  cannot  know,  you  never  will 
know,  the  deep,  deep  love,  sinful  in  its  idolatrous  madness, 
with  which  my  heart  clings  to  you,  shrining  you  high 
above  all  other  conceivable  good,  and  giving  to  you  that 


SEA-SPRAY.  139 

place  in  my  wicked,  idol-worshiping  heart,  which  should 
belong  to  my  God." 

"  Oh  hush,  Ada — hush.  Such  confessions  are  due,  not 
to  me — they  should  be  breathed  but  to  your  God.  To  him 
you  must  look  for  relief  in  this  weary  warfare  with  self 
and  its  subtle  temptations.  I  know  very  well  that  your 
feelings  have  been  severely  tried,  and  that  your  system  is 
enervated  and  unstrung ;  you  need  rest  from  excited 
feelings.  But  how  are  you  to  have  it  if  you  cannot  re- 
strain or  regulate  your  emotions?  If  a  chance  word  care- 
lessly spoken,  excites  so  much  useless  expenditure  of  pas- 
sion, where  are  you  to  look  for  relief?  You  must  seek  it 
in  prayer,  Ada,  in  frequent,  and  fervent,  and  self-subduing 
communings  with  God." 

He  took  her  clasped  hands  in  his,  and  lifting  them  up,  the 
cry  which  his  heart  sent  up  was  known  unto  Him  to  whom 
he  addressed  it,  but  his  lips  uttered  no  sound. 

The  Christmas  Eve  sports  were  ended.  The  boys  went 
home  with  a  joyous  shout,  and  Allen  and  Ernest,  after  care- 
fully packing  away  their  bright  treasures,  retired,  as  Allen 
said,  "  fairly  fagged  out  with  fun." 

"  Ernest,  dear,  darling  Ernest,"  said  Ada,  calling  him  to 
her  side  and  clasping  her  arms  around  him — "  Ernest,  my 
only  child,  my  words  have  wounded  you — forgive  me  for 
our  dead  Edith's  sake — forgive  me,  my  own  gentle  boy.  I 
know  that  I  was  cruel.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  cannot  say  it 
shall  not  be  so  again,  for  I  am  weak  and  wayward ;  but 
Ernest  dear,  try  not  to  mind  it,  or  feel  hurt  when  I  am 
harsh  and  peevish,  nor  doubt  your  poor  mother's  love,  even 
when  her  words  belie  it." 

"Don't  mind  me,  mother,"  said  Ernest,  stoutly,  "you 
know  my  fortune  is  to  dare  and  endure,  so  I  will  just  begin 
to-night." 


140  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  And  mine  is  to  preserve  a  peaceable  fireside  at  all  risks. 
So  go  to  hed  at  once,  mother  and  son,  and  let  me  read  my 
newspapers  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  warmest 
corner." 

Evelyn  spoke  smilingly,  and  the  shadow  passed  away 
from  the  guileless  little  heart.  If  it  lingered  longer  and 
more  heavily  on  the  older  ones,  they  shut  it  carefully  from 
sight. 

Evelyn  knelt  for  their  usual  evening  service,  and  if  there 
was  unwonted  tremor  in  his  voice,  as  he  put  up  the  petition 
— "  Reform  whatever  is  amiss  in  the  temper  and  disposition 
of  our  souls,"  one,  at  least,  of  that  little  isolated  family 
knew  wherefore,  and  one  heart  sent  up  a  deep  and  almost 
despairing  response.  But  a  calm  and  tranquilizing  influ- 
ence followed  their  solemn  devotions,  and,  as  Ada  gave  to 
her  child  her  affectionate  good-night  kiss,  her  heart  swelled 
with  less  painful  emotions,  and  she  sought  her  own  pillow 
with  a  soothing  sense  of  pardon  and  peace.  Evelyn  sat  by 
the  fire  and  mused  ;  he  had  no  desire  for  reading  his  papers, 
but  he  communed  silently  with  his  own  heart.  He  lifted 
the  bewildering  and  fearful  fancies  which  had  so  wearied 
and  worried  him,  away  from  its  inner  recesses ;  he  bade 
its  throbbing  pulses  lie  still  ;  he  silenced  his  repining 
thoughts ;  and  laying  bare  his  heart  to  his  own  rigid  and 
unflinching  examination,  he  searched  out  its  secret  sins, 
and  setting  them  singly  before  God,  he  pleaded  silently  and 
truthfully,  and  earnestly,  for  pardon  for  each  and  all ;  for 
grace  and  strength  to  meet  and  meekly  endure  what  was 
yet  in  store  for  him  ;  and  peace  and  gentle  joy  stole  over 
him,  as  he  sat  communing  with  himself  and  with  his  God, 
until  every  burden  was  lifted  from  his  soul.  Night  deep- 
ened into  midnight,  the  waning  hours  passed  on,  and  still 


SEA- SPRAY.  141 

that  silent  man  sat  listening  to  the  voice  within  his  heart 
sounding  out  still  louder  and  clearer,  until  he  almost  fancied 
that  he  heard,  with  his  outward  ears,  the  glorious  and  glad- 
dening angel's  song,  "  Peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  to- 
wards man."  So  the  Christmas  Eve  passed  away  ;  and 
Walter  Evelyn  sought  repose,  his  heart  fanned  by  the  wings 
of  the  Angel  of  Peace,  and  his  sleep  was  sweet  that  bright 
Christmas  morning. 

The  dense,  dim  clouds  have  rolled  away, 
Which  hung  their  folds  along  the  sky, 
And  one  pale  star,  with  lonely  ray, 
In  dewy  lustre  opes  its  eye. 

Sweet  twilight  star !   whose  trembling  beams, 
Fall  pale  on  evening's  blushing  brow, 
While  every  silent  object  seems 
Communing  with  the  spirit  now. 

Oh,  how  thy  pure  and  placid  light, 
As  soft  o'er  Ocean's  wave  it  plays, 
Revives,  in  glowing  colors  bright, 
The  scenes  of  earlier,  happier  days ! 

Oh,  blissful  days,  for  aye  gone  by, 
Ye  still  to  memory  fondly  cling, 
And  burning  tears  still  dim  my  eye, 
For  friends  in  death  now  slumbering. 

But  brighter,  purer,  holier  far, 
Than  all  night's  glittering  arch,  that  gem, 
Breaks  on  the  spirit's  gaze,  thy  star, 
Oh,  blissful,  blessed  Bethlehem  ! 

For  while  they  wake  the  blinding  tear, 
For  fond  affections  crushed  and  riven, 
Thou  point'st  to  joys  that  faded  here, 
To  brighten  and  mature  in  Heaven. 


142  SEA-SPRAY. 

For  they  but  prompt  the  pining  sigh, 
O'er  human  plans  and  passions  crossed, 
While  thou  proclaim'st,  beyond  the  sky, 
Re-union  with  the  loved  and  lost ! 

Day  broke  in  serene  and  cloudless  beauty  on  the  sea, 
that  clear,  bright  Christmas  morning.  With  its  first  dawn- 
ing light,  Evelyn  arose,  and,  putting  back  the  blinds,  looked 
forth  upon  the  silent  earth,  yet  sleeping  in  the  soft, 
shadowy  gleam.  The  glittering  beams  of  the  brilliant 
morning  star,  holding  its  course  alone  in  the  cloudless 
south-east,  fell  on  his  view,  as  he  lifted  his  gaze  to  the 
kindling  heavens.  Evelyn's  heart  was  full  of  love  and 
deep  devotional  joy,  and  he  sent  up  almost  a  shout  of  glad 
thanksgiving,  as  he  looked  out  upon  the  glowing  splendors 
of  this  beautiful  world,  to  Him  who  had  fashioned  and 
finished  it.  The  hum  of  bustling,  busy  life,  began  to  break 
the  holy  silence  of  the  hour.  Man  was  abroad,  with  his 
passions  and  purposes.  Human  strivings  and  stir  jarred 
upon  the  sweet  peacefulness  of  the  silent  handiworks  of 
God  ;  and  the  spiritualizing  charm  which  had,  like  a  visible 
and  consecrating  presence,  hung  over  the  Temple  of 
Nature,  was  lost. 

Evelyn  turned  from  the  window.  Silently  he  hung  over 
the  pillow  of  the  slumbering  boy.  The  soft,  rosy  light 
preceding  the  sun,  looked  in  on  the  child,  in  his  calm,  un- 
ruffled repose.  The  silky  brown  curls  were  spread  abroad 
on  his  pillow ;  and  the  sweet  cherub  cheek  rested  on  the 
little  pale  hand,  so  small  and  delicate  in  its  fairy-like  slen- 
derness.  It  was  too  fair  and  pure  a  thing  for  earth. 
Evelyn  felt  it  so,  and  a  chill  came  over  his  heart  as  he 
traced  the  too  striking  resemblance  to  the  gentle-hearted 
girl  he  had  left  to  sleep  in  a  far  sunny  land.  Evelyn  saw 


SEA- SPRAY.  •  143 

too  plainly  that  Ernest  was  not  formed  for  long  con- 
tinuance here. 

"  '  To  dare,  endure,  and  die  !'  Alas,  my  fair  boy,  you 
can  do  but  one — daring  and  endurance  are  not  for  you. 
But  let  me  not  cloud  this  blessed  morning  with  fears  and 
forebodings.  Let  me  not  thanklessly  embitter  the  present, 
with  its  cup  of  blessing,  by  anticipating  sorrows  in  the 
future  ;"  and,  turning  from  the  couch,  he  went  forth  in  the 
beams  of  the  rising  sun,  to  his  accustomed  walk  to  the 
grave  of  Edith,  on  which  every  day  the  yearning  heart  of 
the  father  poured  out  its  blessings  and  its  tears. 

It  was  Christmas  all  over  Christendom  ;  but  little  did 
Christian  Sea-spray  regard  the  blessed  associations  of  the 
day.  No  solemn  service  in  the  little  temple  "  dedicated" 
to  the  worship  of  God,  set  forth  for  their  edification  the 
glad  tidings  of  a  Saviour's  birth.  No  call  from  the 
"  church-going  bell"  summoned  them  to  the  house  of  God, 
to  bless  and  magnify  His  holy  name,  or  to  render  thanks 
for  his  "  inestimable  love  in  the  redemption  of  the  world," 
through  His  incarnate  and  crucified  Son. 

Innocent  of  those  feelings  of  animosity  towards  every- 
thing which  belonged  to  the  rejected  and  forsworn  Church 
of  England,  which  actuated  the  early  Puritans  in  their  de- 
termined repudiation  of  all  her  time-honored  observances, 
as  subtle  devices  of  the  adversary,  or  as  the  "  mysteries  of 
iniquity,"  instigated  and  perpetrated  by  the  blasphemous 
many-headed  "  beast,"  they  nevertheless  adhered  to  the 
rigid  simplicity  in  their  manner  of  worship  which  was  the 
result  of  them.  Without  troubling  themselves  about  the 
motives  and  influences  which  continued  to  drive  those 
stern  unrelenting  seceders  to  their  formal  disruption  from 
the  faith  and  forms  of  their  fathers,  and  to  send  them 


144:  SEA-SPRAT. 

voluntary,  and,  possibly,  self-sacrificing  exiles,  forth  from 
the  homes  of  their  fathers,  they  had  retained  the  custom, 
without  questioning  the  cause,  of  ignoring  Christmas 
church  services. 

The  church  could  be  duly  and  elaborately  dressed  and 
decorated  for  Fourth  of  July  celebrations,  or  civic  festivals 
of  all  descriptions.  Washington's  birth-day,  or  Jackson's 
eighth  of  January  victory,  might  call  troops  of  listeners  to 
hear,  in  the  temple  of  God,  laudatory  and  eulogistic 
harangues,  marching  in  with  banner  and  plume,  sword, 
musket,  and  bayonet,  and  making  the  old  rafters  ring  with 
the  deafening  clang  of  fife,  bugle,  trumpet,  and  drum,  lay- 
ing all  the  martial  array — belts,  and  cocked  hats,  and 
sheathed  swords — on  the  sacramental  table,  and  planting 
banner  and  spear  by  the  altar  of  God ;  but  the  glorious 
coming  of  the  blessed  Redeemer  of  man,  the  humble  birth- 
day of  the  unblazoned  and  noiseless  "  Prince  of  Peace," 
was  worthy  of  no  note,  and  the  blessed  day  was  suffered  to 
pass  with  less  demonstrative  observance  than  "  town-meet- 
ing" or  "  election ;"  and  a  sprig  of  holly,  or  a  green  boxen 
cross,  would  have  been  held  as  an  idolatrous  and  heathen 
innovation,  synonymous  with  "  saint,"  "  virgin,"  or  u  image 
worship."  So  they  called  the  day  the  festival  of  "  Santa 
Glaus,"  and  bowed  down  and  paid  homage  to  the  gift-dis- 
pensing saint,  every  man  after  his  own  heart ;  and  inno- 
cent and  inoffensive  are  the  honors  paid  to  the  saint,  on 
the  home  and  household  shrine  :  holy  and  heart-warming 
the  promptings  of  love  which  speak  in  the  simple  tributes 
and  trifling  offerings  of  honest  affection  interchanged 
round  the  homestead  board. 

Miles  of  "father's  Sunday  stockings"  might  have  been  seen 
suspended  on  shovel-hooks,  bed-posts  and  thumb-latches, 


SEA-SPRAT.  145 

selected  from  the  great  "squaw-basket"  under  the  bed, 
because  of  their  capacious  dimensions,  on  that  pleasant 
Christmas-eve  ;  and  scores  of  little  frowzy  white-heads 
nestled  away  between  the  blankets  hours  earlier  than  usual, 
that  they  might  not  delay  the  arrival  of  the  good  Saint, 
listening,  and  waiting,  and  longing  for  morning,  till  sleep 
overpowered  curiosity,  and  the  long,  dangling  yarn  stock- 
ing was  forgotten.  Many  a  crooked  sixpence,  and  smooth 
shilling  depreciated  to  ninepence,  many  a  tenpence  and 
two  cents  to  make  a  shilling,  were  quietly  dropped  into 
"  Frankey's  till,"  either  at  "  north"  or  "  south-end"  branch, 
in  exchange  for  the  coveted  treasures  which  were  to  make 
glad  those  little  beating  hearts  to-morrow.  Many  a  brown- 
handed  laborer  brought  forth  the  hard-earned  pennies 
which  were  to  purchase  bright  eyes  and  smiling  lips,  to 
grace  and  cheer  his  "  candle-light"  morning  meal.  Many 
a  neat  splint  basket,  containing  the  hoarded  eggs,  was 
slyly  conveyed,  while  the  children  were  in  school,  to  the 
store,  and  the  purchases  as  slyly  taken  home,  under  the 
ample  folds  of  the  great  scarlet  and  gold-colored  meeting- 
shawl.  Many  a  neat-limbed,  well-proportioned  man  of 
dough,  found  his  limbs  suddenly  expanding,  and  his  fine 
symmetry  destroyed,  by  a  plunge  in  the  fiery  fluid — sad 
types  of  their  reasoning  prototypes,  growing  redder  and 
broader  in  their  deadly  absorption.  Great  was  the  de- 
struction of  cakes,  candies,  and  nuts,  and  great  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  little  demolishers,  in  the  acquisitions  of  dolls, 
knives,  whips,  and  skates ;  and  so  Christmas  was  gone  in 
the  train  of  buried  centuries,  and  the  joys  it  had  yielded 
were  forgotten  in  the  restless  reaching  after  others.  Its 
toys  were  soon  soiled  and  broken,  and  its  pleasant  pastimes 
were  among  the  by-gone  things  of  yesterday,  and  Sea-spray 
had  not  grown  wiser  or  better  for  its  teachings. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT  was  cold,  "shut-up  weather"  in  Sea-spray.  The  beau- 
tiful, soft,  sunny  days  of  the  early  season  had  given  place 
to  winter,  in  all  its  rugged  reality.  Sleet  and  snow  one 
day  glazed  the  earth,  rendering  footing  dangerous.  Rain 
and  thaw,  the  next,  rendered  out-of-doors  exercise  doubly 
disagreeable.  Happy  was  it  for  those  who  could  now  find 
amusement  and  pleasant  occupation  at  home ;  who  could 
draw  quiet  fire-side  enjoyment  from  their  own  resources  ; 
and,  in  books,  work,  and  rational  and  enlivening  inter- 
change of  sentiment  and  feeling,  forget  the  elemental  com- 
motion without ;  and,  enjoying  the  few  but  peculiar  plea- 
sures of  winter,  wait  patiently  for  spring. 

For  the  gay  and  pleasure-seeking,  Sea-spray  was  a  sad, 
dull  place  in  winter ;  and  for  any  purposes  of  recreation,  or 
justifiable  and  innocent  gaiety,  it  afforded  no  resources. 
There  was  no  place  for  amusement  ever  available  ;  no  lec- 
tures, either  scientific  or  moral ;  no  pleasant  reading-room, 
where  the  young  men  could  pass  a  pleasant  or  profitable 
hour  ;  no  associations  of  any  kind  for  mutual  improvement 
or  for  friendly,  familiar,  social  intercourse. 

The  post-office  was  a  sometimes  resort,  but  it  was  also  a 
variety  store  ;  and,  though  always  quiet  and  perfectly  re- 


SEA-SPRAY.  147 

spectable  and  orderly,  was  generally,  in  the  long  winter 
evenings,  too  full  of  a  motley  concourse  of  loungers,  col- 
lected either  in  furtherance  of  their  own  proper  business, 
or  for  the  sake  of  warm  quarters,  to  be  an  agreeable  stop- 
ping-place for  conversation  or  information.  The  "  stores," 
however,  were  the  most  frequented  lounging-places  for  the 
idle  and  unoccupied,  where  they  congregated  to  discuss 
business,  to  make  bargains,  to  hear  and  tell  the  news,  and 
to  gather  the  rich  morsels  of  gossip,  of  which,  in  Sea- spray, 
there  was  seldom  any  dearth.  There  was  kept  the  bulletin 
of  domestic  and  village  affairs  ;  foreign  news  bulletins  being 
issued  nightly,  after  mail  hours,  from  the  post-office,  where 
eager  politicians  and  price-current  inquirers  resorted,  to 
hear  the  news  read  by  the  obliging  postmaster  ;  he  being, 
by  universal  consent,  voted  the  best  public  reader  in  Sea- 
spray.  From  the  domestic  bulletin  was  issued,  at  all  hours, 
the  last  item  of  village  gossip,  incipient  courtships,  broken 
off  treaties  of  marriage,  dreadful  sicknesses  and  miraculous 
cures,  wounds  healed  by  a  look,  broken  bones  mended  by 
a  touch,  and  dislocated  joints  winked  back  into  their  sock- 
ets, suspected  marriages  and  rejected  offers,  and  every  little 
"  faux  pas"  or  malapropos  proceeding  in  all  grades  and 
classes  of  society,  in  all  districts  of  the  village,  past,  pre- 
sent, and  prospective.  Here  they  ate  apples  and  candies, 
cracked  dry  nuts  and  dryer  jokes,  fired  squibs  and  point- 
less jests  at  each  other,  talked,  and  laughed,  and  smoked, 
and  idled  away  time,  doing  neither  harm  nor  good,  but 
keeping  care  and  blue  devils  at  a  distance,  taking  coolly 
and  good-naturedly  whatever  was  aimed  at  them,  rising 
regularly,  shaking  the  peanut  shells  from  their  garments, 
and  going  home  at  nine  o'clock. 

The  great  temperance  reform  had  put  a  dead  stop  to  all 


148  SEA-SPRAT. 

roystering  games,  and  passing  round  the  hat  for  the  next 
quart  was  heard  of  no  more.  Even  cider  was  a  prohibited 
indulgence,  and  poor,  demure  Sea-spray  had  been  wrung 
dry,  and  re- wrung,  till  there  was  not  a  drop  of  fun  left  lurk- 
ing in  the  hem  of  her  garments. 

An  apple,  a  pinch  of  peanuts,  and  a  sixpenny  junk  of 
sarsaparilla  compound,  was  the  extent  of  an  evening's  in- 
vestment, and  who,  pray,  need  to  grudge  that  ? 

They  were  a  jolly,  honest,  intelligent  community  of  "  who 
cares  for  you  ?"  fellows  ;  and  they  would  have  gone  to  Son- 
tag's  concerts,  and  paid  for  a  first-class  ticket,  if  it  had 
suited  her  to  come  to  Sea-spray.  But  what  could  they  do 
down  there,  with  the  sea-fog  condensing  in  their  eyebrows 
and  making  weeping  willows  of  their  whiskers,  but  do  no- 
thing, and  laugh  at  it  ?  For  the  gentler  sex  there  was  no 
resource  left,  but  singing  assemblages  for  the  membei's  of 
the  choir  once  a  week,  and  prayer-meetings  as  often. 

The  last  great  revival  had  dealt  the  death-blow  to  dan- 
cing ;  and  whist  was  voted  out  of  the  village.  The  violin 
now  was  heard  no  more,  except  in  church,  or  wailing  forth 
Old  Hundred  at  "the  store,"  where  also  met  the  male  mem- 
bers of  the  village  choir  for  occasional  practice  ;  and  deep, 
solemn  and  fine  vocal  music  sometimes  rose  loud  and  clear 
over  listening  Sea-spray.  Once  in  a  long,  long  time,  some 
young  native  would  bring  home  his  new  bride,  and  then, 
would  be  an  occasion  justifying  some  outbreak  of  frolic. 
When  the  "  old^  married  folks"  were  summoned  to  the 
home-coming,  then  would  come  down  storms  of  uproarious 
jollification.  The  old,  long-exploded  plays  would  be  brushed 
up  from  some  unexplored  corner  of  memory,  and  the  old 
village  would  ring  and  roar  again  with  "  Oats,  peas,  beans, 
and  barley,  oh !"— "  Brother  Philip," — "  Salute  the  Grand 


SEA-SPRAY.  149 

Turk,"  or  "  Break  the  Pope's  neck," — phrases  now-a-days 
awakening  ideas  of  more  portentous  meaning,  than  making 
wry  mouths  in  the  face  of  a  bashful  old  bachelor,  or  twirl- 
ing a  pewter  platter  to  win  a  kiss  from  a  blushing  girl. 

Sea-spray,  then,  though  far  removed  from  the  reach  of 
fashionable,  and,  possibly,  demoralizing  amusements,  was  a 
harmless,  snug  little  abode,  with  room  enough  for  a  con- 
tented heart ;  temperate,  moral,  religious,  with  soil  rich 
enough  for  the  growth  of  truth,  honor,  honesty,  and  all  holy 
and  happy  influences.  If  it  was  not  cultivated  as  carefully 
as  it  might  be,  she  at  least  had  yet  to  find  a  sister  village 
that  should  dare  to  commence  hostilities,  by  casting  the  first 
stone  at  her. 

"  Town  Pond"  was  frozen  at  last.  Skates,  filed  and  new 
strapped  in  November,  had  been  all  winter  objects  of  glum 
and  mournful  consideration.  But  "  Town  Pond"  was  fro- 
zen. Ernest  and  Allen  had  been  greeted  with  the  glad 
news;  and,  having  called  in  council  their  trusty  coadjutors, 
Thomas  and  George  Fuller,  who  were  their  oracles  on  all 
questions  of  doubtful  expediency,  it  was  voted  safe  to  ven- 
ture, the  ice  being  pronounced  reliable. 

It  was  a  bright,  keen  day,  and  "  Town  Pond"  glittered  in 
the  sun,  in  tempting  and  treacherous  slipperiness.  Troops 
of  boys  were  circling,  and  wheeling,  and  darting  away  on 
long  pulls,  and  bevies  of  timid  little  girls  were  trying  their 
prowess  in  short  slides  across  the  narrow  end;  here  and 
there  one,  with  a  stronger  and  more  masculine  command 
of  limb,  venturing  the  admirable  feat  of  sliding  "  squat," 
much  to  the  envy  of  their  less  energetic  play-mates.  Ernest 
looked  on  with  great  interest ;  but  he  had  no  skill  on  the 
ice,  and  his  first  step  was  a  failure.  The  boys  could  not 
enjoy  any  sport  in  which  the  delicate,  pale  little  stranger 


150  SEA-SPRAY. 

could  not  participate.  So  Allen  and  George  took  off  their 
skates,  and  ran  back  for  "  Gazelle,"  with  which  they  were 
soon  at  the  verge  of  the  pond,  ready  for  action.  Harness- 
ing themselves  to  the  little  fairy  sledge,  and  seating  Ernest 
on  it  with  the  reins  in  his  hands,  off  they  flew  like  the  wind, 
round  and  round  the  long  pond,  the  admiration  of  all  the 
shouting  lookers-on,  Ernest  laughing,  and  breathless  with 
delight.  They  had  stopped  at  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  pond  to  rest,  and  gather  strength  for  another  race, 
standing  panting  and  silent  by  the  side  of  the  sledge,  when 
the  old  town  clock  began,  slowly  and  solemnly,  to  toll  off 
twelve  o'clock.  Ernest  started  and  listened,  then  turned 
to  look.  There,  on  the  hill-side,  its  little  white  tablet  gleam- 
ing in  the  sun,  lay  Edith's  grave !  Sweet  little  Edith 
within  the  sound  of  his  merry  laugh,  the  sister  he  had  so 
loved,  and  still  so  deeply  mourned.  A  groan  broke  over 
Ernest's  pale  lips,  and  the  healthful  glow  of  exercise  and 
pleased  excitement  faded  from  his  face.  Allen  saw  that  he 
was  exhausted,  and  kindly  suggested  that  he  was  fatigued, 
and  that  they  would  go  home. 

"  No,  Allen,  not  fatigued ;  but  see,  yonder  lies  Edith,  in 
her  cold,  dark  grave ;  and  I  could  laugh,  and  be  glad  so 
near." 

Allen  comprehended  now.  He  remembered  when  he 
stood  where  they  now  stood,  looking  out  upon  the  boys  at 
play,  with  no  heart  to  join  them,  and  wondering  anybody 
could  laugh  and  be  happy,  when  his  own  blessed  little 
brother  lay  so  near  them  on  the  hill,  and  the  first  snow  of 
winter  lying  white  on  his  little  grave.  So  he  tried  in  his 
child's  way  to  soothe  and  comfort  Ernest :  telling  him  how 
he  had  felt,  and  how  time  had  come  with  healing  ;  and  he 
could  keep  his  brother's  place  warm  in  his  heart,  and  think 


SEA-SPBAY.  151 

of  him  often  and  fondly,  and  yet  enjoy  life  and  love  play. 
But  it  did  not  comfort  Ernest.  Whom  did  it  ever  com- 
fort to  be  calmly  told,  in  the  anguish  of  bereavement — 
"  Oh,  you  wont  feel  so  always.  You  will  get  over  it,  and 
take  pleasure  in  other  things  ?"  And  who  that  has  spurned 
the  suggestion  as  the  most  painful  and  revolting  to  the 
broken  and  bleeding  heart,  has  not  found  it  true,  neverthe- 
less ?  Who  has  not  found,  under  similar  afflictions,  the 
most  potent  condoler,  Time? 

Allen  took  off  his  skates,  and  with  his  friends,  the 
Fullers,  accompanying  and  assisting  in  drawing  "  Gazelle," 
they  kindly  encouraged  and  cheered  their  grieved  little 
companion,  leading  him  by  the  hand,  and  picking  the 
smoothest  footings  for  his  weak,  trembling  steps. 

"  Do'nt  tell,  papa,  Allen  ;  please  do'nt.  Poor  papa  does 
so  wish  to  see  me  happy,  and  he  will  be  so  sorry  and  dis- 
appointed to  have  me  come  home  disheartened  and  sick.  I 
will  go  into  the  kitchen  and  sit  by  Dury's  big  fire  till  I  get 
over  it." 

Accordingly  the  boys  went  in  at  the  back  yard  gate,  and 
into  the  house  by  the  kitchen  entrance.  * 

Allen  hung  up  his  skates  out  of  Ernest's  sight,  and 
generously  resolved  to  say  nothing  about  skating  in  his 
hearing. 

"  Ah,  boys,"  said  Evelyn,  when  they  met  at  the  dinner- 
table,  "  what  of  the  skating  ?  Did  you  have  a  fine  time  ?" 

Allen  came  to  Ernest's  relief,  answering  for  both. 
"  First  rate,  but  it  was  gather  cold  on  the  pond,  and  we 
did  not  stay  long." 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  as  you  can't  skate,  my  son  ?" 

Ernest  began  to  tell  how  the  boys  had  given  him  a  ride 
on  "  Gazelle  ;"  but  disingenuousness  had  no  place  in  his 


152  SEA-SPRAY. 

composition,  and  his  truthful  heart  could  not  let  him  take 
the  first  step  in  the  art  of  dissembling.  He  stopped,  faltered, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  papa.  I  can't  deceive  you,  though 
I  did  think  I  would  try.  Only  I  did  so  wish  to  have 
you  think  I  had  been  very  happy.  And  so  I  was,  till  the 
church  clock  tolled  out,  and  it  sounded  as  it  did  when 
Edith  was  being  carried  to  her  grave.  And  then  I  looked 
up,  and  I  saw  the  little  grave  all  alone  on  the  hill ;  and  I 
felt,  oh,  how  cruel  for  me  to  be  laughing  here,  and  she  lying 
there.  And  I  could  not  help  it,  papa ;  and  then  the  boys 
left  their  pleasant  play  and  came  home  with  me,  and  I 
knew  I  was  selfish  to  let  them.  And  then  I  tried  to  deceive 
you,  papa,  and  asked  Allen  to  help  me ;  and  that  was  so 
wicked,  and  I  am  so  sorry,  for  I  knew  you  would  rather  I 
should  be  sick  and  sorrowful  than  to  be  wicked." 

Ernest  told  his  story ;  manfully  keeping  back  his  tears, 
and  choking  down  his  sobs  till  it  was  all  out. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Ernest,  that  you  attempted  to  deceive  me, 
and  glad  to  find  that  you  could  not  do  it.  I  shall  excuse 
you  entirely,  for  the  motive  was  a  generous  one.  But,  as 
you  say,  Ernest,  I  would  rather  you  should  sorrow  than  sin  ; 
the  one  I  may  soften  and  soothe,  the  other  it  is  not  mine 
to  forgive.  The  offence,  so  far  as  it  is  against  me,  I  freely 
pardon.  If  you  have  sinned  against  your  conscience  or 
your  God,  Ernest,  it  is  not  with  me  you  have  to  deal." 

"I  have  relieved  my  conscience,  papa,  by  telling  you  the 
truth  boldly.  I  knew  I  never  could  rest  with  a  secret  in 
my  heart,  till  I  had  confessed  it.  Oh,  it  must  be  dreadful 
to  carry  a  lie  about  in  the  bosom.  I  never  will  try  to  tell 
or  act  one  again,"  said  Ernest,  his  face  lightening  with  the 
sense  of  relief,  while  Ada  sank  back  almost  fainting  in  her 


SEA-SPRAY.  153 

chair.     Sudden   indisposition  was  a  frequent  thing  with 
Ada. 

Days  sped  away,  and  soon  counted  weeks ;  and  weeks 
followed  each  other  in  the  same  old-fashioned  way  in 
which  they  had  rolled  along  from  the  beginning.  Little 
occurred  to  disturb  or  diversify  the  peaceful  monotony  of 
Sea-spray  life.  Ernest.and  Allen  spent  their  time  pleasantly, 
for  the  libraries,  the  kitchen,  and  Christmas-box  furnished 
many  resources ;  and  the  Fullers  came  often  to  spend  a 
cheerful  evening;  and  Charley  and  Eddy  Osgood  came, 
with  their  round,  handsome  faces,  and  bright,  roguish  eyes, 
to  play  "  blind  man's  buft"  and  "  hunt  the  slipper,"  and  to  . 
help  to  rig  ships  and  build  sleds  ;  and  sometimes  they 
snuggled  close  in  the  corner,  and  coaxed  Dury  to  tell  them 
a  story.  And  she  would  tell,  in  her  slow,  solemn  tones,  a 
pitiful  tale  of  the  "lost  babes  in  Hether  woods  ;"  and  how 
they  wandered,  and  wailed,  and  wept ;  and  how  even  now, 
in  the  still  snow-storms,  their  cry  was  sometimes  heard 
sounding  out  iver  so  doleful ;  and  how,  finally,  they  lay 
down  hand  in  hand,  and  said  their  prayers,  and  died.  And 
how  the  little  red-winged  wood  robins  came  and  kiver'd 
'em  all  up  with  the  great  brown  oak  leaves  and  the  soft 
green  moss,  and  then  settled  on  the  trees,  they  did,  right 
over  'em,  and  sot  and  sung  and  sung  all  day  so  solemn 
and  sad.  And  then  Bumbu,  a  wicked  westerly  Ingin,  came 
along  with  his  great  bow  and  flint-pointed  arrow,  and  shot 
the  little  robins  a-sottin  on  the  trees  a-singin ;  and  then 
how  the  old  Cheepi  came  a  tearing  along,  and  took  that 
are  wicked  westerly  Ingin,  and  jumped  right  straight  off 
"  Light-house  Hill"  into  the  oshin,  and  nobody  niver  seen 
him  no  more. 

Dury's  melancholy  tale  generally  closed  the  evening's 

7 


154:  SEA-SPRAY. 

performances ;  and  the  boys  would  huddle  close  together, 
and  take  hold  of  each  other's  hands,  and  go  home  with 
their  eyes  shut,  trembling  lest  they  should  see  "  old  Cheepi 
and  that  wicked  westerly  Ingin  on  his  back." 

"  Papa,  may  I  go  to  the  evening  meeting  with  Alien?" 
asked  Ernest,  one  bright  moonlight  evening. 

Evelyn  never  refused  a  request  without  a  good  reason, 
and,  as  he  saw  no  objection,  he  made  none,  and  the  boys 
went.  When  they  returned,  they  came  in  at  the  back 
door  into  the  kitchen,  which  was  the  great  rallying  point 
when  coming  from  without,  to  dry  or  change  shoes.  Eve- 
lyn, who  had  been  taking  a  solitary  moonlight  stroll,  sat 
drying  his  boots  at  Dury's  fire,  and  the  boys  drew  in  their 
chairs  beside  him.  They  all  seemed  busy  with  their  own 
thoughts.  At  length  Allen  broke  the  silence  by  asking, 

"  Is  it  generally  supposed  that  when  people  die,  they  go 
at  once  to  Heaven,  and  see  God  ?" 

It  was  a  strange  question  for  a  boy  of  nine  years  to  pon- 
der, and  Evelyn  answered  by  asking  another. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  thai,  Allen  ?" 

"  Because  there  was  a  lady  buried  yesterday,  and  one  of 
the  men  that  exhorted,  said  she  was  now  singing  praises 
with  the  redeemed  of  all  ages,  before  the  throne  of  God, 
and  I  thought  folks  had  to  be  judged  before  they  went  to 
heaven,  and  then  I  thought  if  they  were  judged  one  by 
one  as  they  died,  what  need  was  there  of  any  great  gene- 
ral judgment,  or  would  they  be  judged  twice  ?  It  was  all 
a  new  thought  to  me,  and  I  could  not  make  it  out." 

Evelyn  looked  with  curious  wonder  at  the  little  sober 
face  of  this  young  searcher  into  mysteries,  hardly  knowing 
how  to  answer  without  bewildering,  more  than  he  enlight- 
ened him : 


SEA-SPRAY.  165 

"  You  have  asked  a  question,  Allen,  I  can  hardly  an- 
swer to  your  comprehension.  It  has  disturbed  older  heads 
than  yours,  and  occupied  the  attention  of  sounder  and 
wiser  theologians  than  I  am,  or  many  that  I  know ;  but  I 
will  try  to  tell  you  as  far  as  I  can  make  it  plain.  It  is  a 
doctrine  of  the  church  in  which  I  was  educated,  that  there 
is  an  intermediate  state,  neither  of  perfect  blessedness,  nor 
of  utter  misery,  into  which  the  disembodied  spirit  passes ; 
that  there  is  a  place  for  the  evil-doer,  and  a  place  for  the 
righteous  lover  of  God's  laws.  It  is  considered  a  place  of 
rest,  and  also  of  progression,  where  the  spirits  of  the  just 
and  of  the  unjust  alike  await  the  final  coming  of.  the 
Lord." 

"  But  where  is  it,  papa  ?  If  it  is  not  Heaven  is  it  Para- 
dise ?  I  thought  that  Paradise  was  where  Adam  and  Eve 
lived,  and  that  was  on  the  earth." 

Evelyn  smiled  at  the  perplexity  in  which  the  little  fre- 
quenters of  evening  meetings  were  involved,  but  he  an- 
swered kindly  : 

"  That  was  what  we  call  '  Terrestrial  Paradise,'  my  son, 
and  we  say  Paradise  when  we  speak  of  the  spiritual  abode 
of  the  happy.  Some  think  it  is  the  place  which  the  Jews 
called  the  '  bosom  of  Abraham,'  the  father  of  all  true  be- 
lievers, and  that  such  was  the  right  interpretation  of  our 
Savior's  words  to  the  penitent  thief.  "  This  day  shalt  thou 
be  with  me  in  Paradise."  All  divines  use  the  word  Para- 
dise in  reference  to  that  Heaven  which  is  to  be  the  final 
residence  of  the  redeemed  and  happy,  but  there  are  differ- 
ent opinions  on  the  subject,  not  important  to  be  examined 
or  explained  now.  The  Greeks  speak  of  two  sorts  of  Pa- 
radise, 'the  first  a  place  of  light  and  rest,  wherein  the 
blessed  await  the  last  judgment,  which  they  call  Paradise, 


156  SEA-SPKAY. 

Light,  Life,  Happiness,  and  Mansion  of  the  Living ;  the 
second  the  Eternal  Happiness  which  they  shall  enjoy  in 
Heaven  after  the  day  of  judgment." 

"But  where  was  Adam's  Paradise,  papa?  that  beautiful 
garden  where  they  lived  so  happy  before  the  serpent  got 
in." 

"  The  learned  fathers  and  doctors  of  the  church  have 
studied,  and  examined,  and  disagreed,  and  failed  to  be  sat- 
isfied. Some  say  it  was  on  the  islands  of  the  sea,  some  on 
the  high  mountain  tops,  some  say  it  was  in  that  part  of  the 
world  called  Palestine  or  the  Holy  Land ;  others,  again, 
urge,  that  the  Deluge  entirely  destroyed  all  its  distinguish- 
ing characteristics,  that  no  vestige  remains  of  its  primeval 
beauty,  and  that  all  search  for  its  peaceful  and  pleasant  lo- 
calities is  useless  and  absurd.  I  have  told  you  Allen,  all 
that  I  think  your  question  required — have  I  made  it  plain  ?" 

"  I  think  I  understand  what  you  have  told  me ;  I  only 
asked  because  I  had  never  thought  of  it  before,  and  I  did 
not  know  but  everybody  thought  what  was  most  agreea- 
ble to  themselves  to  think.  I  did  not  know  that  the  church 
taught  any  doctrine  about  it;  but  Ernest  and  I  were  talking 
about  it  coming  home,  and  we  did  not  know  what  to 
think." 

"  It  is  a  received  doctrine  of  my  church  ;  perhaps  it  is 
not  exactly  a  fundamental  point  to  be  subscribed-  to.  Do 
you  know  what  I  mean  by  fundamental,  Allen  ?" 

"  Important,  essential,  lying  at  the  foundation,"  replied 
Allen,  promptly. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  Allen,  for  you  and  Ernest  to  give 
yourselves  any  trouble  on  such  points  ;  you  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  handle  them  yet." 

"  I  was  not  troubled,  I  was  only  curious."  And,  with  this 
reply  of  Allen's,  the  conversation  ended. 


SEA-SPRAT.  157 

The  winter  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  nothing  of  inter- 
est occurred  to  distinguish  its  last  lingering  days.  Evelyn 
went  out  daily  to  visit  Edith's  grave,  and  watch  that  no 
rough  step  came  nigh  it ;  occasionally  calling  for  his  letters 
and  papers  at  the  Post-Office,  sometimes  strolling  out  for  a 
walk  with  the  boys,  or  accompanying  Col.  Hesselten  in  a 
chatty  promenade  over  his  premises  ;  once  or  twice  taking 
a  brisk  walk  with  his  kind,  sociable,  and  attentive  friend, 
Mr.  Alden,  and  dropping  in  for  a  few  moments  at  the  bright, 
cheerful,  hospitable  little  parsonage. 

Ada  never  had  ventured  out  of  doors,  and  her  only 
change  was  from  the  dining-room  and  Dury's  dominions, 
back  to  her  own  apartment,  where,  with  the  conversation 
of  her  husband  and  her  child,  and  the  occasional  assistance 
of  work  and  books,  she  whiled  away  the  dull  days  of  her 
voluntary  imprisonment. 

So  Winter  was  gone. 


Now  comes  sweet  Spring,  with  so  t  and  stealthy  tread, 

Smoothing  the  foot-prints  of  her  rugged  sire, 
Bidding  chilled  flowrets  lift  the  timid  head, 

Bowed  'neath  the  frowns  of  Winter's  stormy  ire, 
Coaxing  green  leaves  to  peep  from  hedge-rows  sere, 

Blue  violets,  forth,  from  drifted  leaves  to  peer, 
And  sand-pinks  sweet,  the  woodland  walks  to  cheer ; 

While  from  the  household  tree,  at  times,  is  heard, 
Answering  her  call,  the  early  singing-bird. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IT  was  March,  bleak,  blustering  and  cold,  with  hoary 
piles  of  leaden  clouds  towering  up  in  the  north  and  east, 
— windy,  squally  and  disheartening.  Then,  a  deceitful, 
smiling  day,  promising  more  genial  weather,  followed  by 
a  night,  rendered  dreary  and  dismal  with  the  howling  of 
winds,  and  the  lapping  and  slamming  of  doors,  shutters, 
gates,  and  loose  boards,  on  barns  and  fences.  Then  came 
melting  and  mud,  nothing  but  mud — mud  indoors  and  out, 
making  every  one  feel  muddy,  morose,  and  miserable. 
Nevertheless,  March  was  not  without  his  redeeming  traits, 
and,  with  all  his  surly  and  tantalizing  humors,  stood  nota- 
ble housewives  in  good  stead,  being  a  zealous  instigator  and 
promoter  of  all  sorts  of  thread-and-needle  industry.  March 
was  the  month  for  doing  up  all  sorts  of  confining  work,  and 
quilting-frames  were  in  requisition.  Very  small  boys,  not 
good  for  anything  on  the  farm,  might  be  seen  ankle-deep  in 
soaked  loam,  ploughing  their  way,  tottering  under  the  long 
bars  of  the  quilting-frame,  with  the  pins  tied  together  and 
dangling  from  the  ends.  Great  bundles  of  batting  marched 
slowly  along  the  side-walk,  tied  to  some  almost  obliterated 
little  girl  in  a  scarlet  hood  and  blue  sack.  Lie-tubs  were 
kicked  along  in  the  mud,  by  great  lubberly  boys,  and  great 
iron  kettles  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  street,  sus- 


160  SEA-SPRAT. 

pended  on  poles.  Mud  had  laid  an  embargo  on  female 
pedestrians,  and  nothing  short  of  some  desperate  dry-goods 
want  called  a  lady  forth.  Then  were  sundry  budgets  of 
long-cut-out  sewing  work  rummaged  out  from  chests  and 
drawers,  and  industriously  sewed  into  garments ;  great, 
discouraging  bags  of  cotton  stockings,  with  last  summer's 
holes  in  the  heels,  were  patiently  looked  over,  and  diligently 
and  delicately  darned ;  refuse  apples,  and  mouse  eaten 
ears  of  corn  and  unshucked  walnuts  were  conveyed  to  the 
hens  and  the  pigs  ;  and  long  spikes  of  mint,  and  catnip,  and 
hoarhound,  and  boneset  were  condemned  to  the  flames ; 
and  thrifty  housewives  began  to  clean  garrets,  and  "  up- 
stairs" pantries,  and  storerooms,  '"now,  whilst  they'd  got 
lie  ;"  garments  which  would  have  drawn  tears  of  delight 
from  a  Chatham-street  dealer,  were  ruthlessly  condemned 
to  the  shears ;  and  bushels  of  balls  of  rags  were  cut, 
wound,  and  sent  off  in  barrels  to  the  weaver,  to  be  ready 
for  the  floors,  after  "  house-cleaning."  Scores  of  rag  car- 
pets, long  on  hand,  were  finished  up  in  March ;  and  yards 
of  faded  and  otherwise  useless  "boughten,"  ingrain  and 
Venitian,  were  raveled  and  sewed  into  pretty  fringed 
rugs.  Great  was  the  demand  for  needles  and  the  con- 
sumption of  thread,  and  trunk-pedlars  were  in  their  glory, 
trudging  up  one  side  and  down  the  other,  along  the  street, 
with  their  dangling  boxes  of  "  notions,"  and  invariably 
effecting  an  entrance  through  the  back  passage,  to  the 
kitchen,  knocking  their  trunks  against  the  door-casings, 
and  coolly  setting  them  open  on  the  floor,  distracting 
the  attention  of  "  the  help,"  and  interrupting  the  progress 
of  household  affairs.  But  March  was  their  season  of  har- 
vest, when  ladies  availed  themselves  of  the  work-basket 
conveniences  thus  brought  to  them  in  their  beleaguered  ne- 


SEA-SPRAY.  161 

cessity ;  while  Frankey  stood  in  his  door,  and  watched  the 
itinerant  vendor  of  trifles  thus  picking  up  the  dimes  and 
half-dimes  in  his  district,  with  a  feeling  of  benevolent  sym- 
pathy, and  the  remark,  "  Well,  all  trades  must  live."  But 
March  and  mud,  like  everything  mundane,  must  come  to 
an  end,  and  they  passed  away  together,  leaving  Sea-spray 
with  clean  streets. 

April  came  in  with  a  pout  on  her  lip  and  tears  in  her 
eyes.  It  was  not  strange,  considering  what  was  always 
her  first  duty,  to  open  the  church  for  "  Town-Meeting." 
Town-Meeting  was,  and  always  had  been  since  there  had 
been  any  "  Town  "  to  have  a  meeting,  the  grand  festival 
of  Sea-spray :  when  the  old  Lion  of  Democracy  shook 
his  mane  with  a  menacing  growl,  and  the  young  lions 
looked  out  from  all  sorts  of  lairs,  coming  up  to  Town- 
Meeting  to  learn  how  to  roar.  First  came  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  Ethiopia,  stretching  forth  their  hands  to  the 
church,  with  baskets  of  molasses  candy,  and  pillow-cases 
of  gingerbread  and  tartlets,  some  wheeling  barrows  and 
hand-carts  containing  the  heavier  articles,  kegs,  kettles  and 
jugs  of  beer  and  distilled  waters,  with  everything  that 
they  could  borrow  or  beg,  to  tempt  forth  the  hoarded  Town- 
Meeting  pennies  from  the  patched  pockets  in  which  they 
were  burning.  Stands  were  selected  around  the  church,  and, 
if  the  weather  chanced  to  be  unpleasant,  within  it,  for  the 
gentler  of  the  sable  hucksters,  and  by  noon  the  traffic 
began  to  be  brisk.  Meanwhile,  the  bone  and  sinew,  the 
sovereign  people,  the  independent  electors  of  Sea-spray,  be- 
gan to  struggle  along,  sunning  themselves  if  the  sun  shone, 
under  the  lee  of  fences,  or,  if  it  rained,  sheltering  themselves 
under  the  hospitable  piazza  of  the  Academy,  or  sauntering 
in  and  out  the  porches  and  galleries  of  the  church,  but  not 

7* 


162  SEA-SPRAY. 

invading  the  pulpit,  because  they  were  locked  off  the  floor 
of  the  building ;  buying  cake  and  candy,  pies,  apples  or 
nuts,  and,  if  they  were  of  the  nation  that  always  thirst, 
taking  a  glass  of  beer  with  a  sly  lacing  of  gin  from  the 
pocket  bottle  of  the  gentle  and  accommodating  vendor. 

At  one  o'clock  the  bell  rung,  and  the  "  Town  Clerk," 
bearing  the  ballot  boxes,  with  the  town  officials,  took  their 
seats.  Order  was  called  and  sober  business  began.  Sport 
and  nonsense,  eating,  drinking,  scuffling,  wrestling,  hubbub 
and  confusion  of  tongues  prevailed  out  of  doors,  with  here 
and  there  a  jackall  leader  holding  a  caucus  with  a  stray 
limb  of  the  aroused  lion — instructing  them  how  to  vote  on 
this  question  or  that,  and  holding  up  to  their  eager  and 
impatient  gaze  snug  homesteads  and  smiling  farms,  cut  out 
from  the  broad  acres  of  Montauk,  with  fish  swimming 
willingly  onto  their  hooks,  and  fowl  soaring  invitingly  just 
into  their  range,  and  spreading  their  wings  in  condescend- 
ing readiness  to  be  shot,  while  oysters  looked  up  from  the 
mud  in  anxious  anticipation  of  the  tongs,  and  eels  wriggled 
restlessly,  impatient  to  be  skinned.  It  was  a  picture  a 
landless  man  might  languish  to  see  realized.  It  was  not 
strange  the  great  lion  roared  on  this  great  day,  when  im- 
portant steps  were  to  be  taken  preparatory  to  leaping 
on  his  prey.  He  had  been  long  in  training,  poor  beast, 
trying  on  his  roar  in  little  caucus  meetings  in  the  bushes, 
and  lashing  his  sides  with  his  tail  in  private  cross  roads  and 
by-places,  to  keep  up  his  courage,  and  see  how  it  felt  to  be 
bold  and  come  up  to  the  struggle  with  all  the  "  big  bugs, 
Squire  Grandly  and  them,"  while  the  greedy,  shaggy 
jackall,  with  yelping  open  cry  in  the  van,  still  tempted  him 
on.  But  the  by-play  and  confidential  asides  out-of-doors 
in  no  wise  obstructed  the  steady  course  of  business  within  ; 


SEA-SPKAY.  163 

where  were  collected  the  law-loving  yeomanry  and  sub- 
stantial and  responsible  burghers  of  Sea-spray  in  a  firm  pha- 
lanx, certain ,  of  the  validity  of  their  inherited  and  long 
vested  rights,  and  sternly  determined  at  all  hazards  to 
maintain  and  defend  them.  Undaunted  at  the  roar  of  the 
lion,  though  irritated  at  the  unprovoked  and  savage  man- 
ner in  which  he  was  showing  his  teeth,  they  held  up  the 
broad  shield  of  the  law,  and  from  behind  it  they  dared 
and  defied  him. 

Meantime,  around  the  cake  and  candy  carts,  and  with 
the  help  of  the  strengthened  beer,  "  the  mirth  and  fun  grew 
fast  and  furious  ;"  and  though  the  musician  of  Tam  O'Shan- 
ter's  vision  was  not  personally  visible,  there  was  little 
doubt  that  he  acted  through  his  accredited  agents ;  and, 
though  the  fluid  of  inspiration  did  not  flow  very  deep 
round  the  church,  it  was  dealt  out  liberally  "down  below," 
as  was  evinced  by  the  reeling  noisy  little  bands  continually 
fluctuating  between  the  church,  and  the  mischievous  little 
caucusing  and  dram-dealing  establishment  which  had 
sprung  up  as  the  "  headquarters"  of  intemperance,  in  the 
bushes  below  the  village.  Every  bush  had  been  beaten, 
every  boat  turned  over,  and  every  by-path  and  nook 
hunted  to  bring  out  the  voters,  and  Sea-spray  on  that  great 
day  showed  her  strength  to  the  utmost.  Boys  of  all  sizes, 
arrayed  in  the  cast-off  garments  of  preceding  generations, 
with  collapsed  cap  crowns  hanging  down  to  their  shoulders, 
with  cuffs  turned  back,  and  skirts  nearly  sweeping  the 
ground,  or  with  great  "  roundabouts"  of  their  fathers  but- 
toned about  them,  looking  like  drums  perambulating  on 
the  sticks,  lounged  in  all  sorts  of  attitudes  about  the 
street,  looking  up  at  the  passers  by  with  dirty  little  quizzi- 
pal  faces,  eating  candy  and  gingerbread  with  a  most  com- 


164  SEA-SPRAT. 

fortable  and  unconcerned  consciousness  of  having  come  to 
"  Town-Meeting."  Little  did  they  care  about  the  great 
question  of  the  day,  or  whether  Temperance  or  Anti-tempe- 
rance elected  the  town  officers,  while  they  rolled  in  the 
dirt  and  laughed  at  the  staggering  lion,  or  watched  the 
newly  elected  officers  going  home  in  the  pride  of  their 
fresh-blown  honors,  their  faces  lighted  up  at  once  with  the 
glow  of  exultation  and  the  beams  of  a  bright  setting  sun. 

The  advancing  season  rendered  out-of-door  occupations 
pleasant.  The  walks  about  Sea-spray  village  and  its 
vicinity  were  dry  and  well  trodden.  The  robins  were 
running  about  the  street,  making  the  air  echo  with  the 
music  of  their  sweet  little  voices,  while  they  fluttered  about 
on  foot  and  wing,  running  a  space,  and  then  flitting  and 
looking  back  to  see  who  followed,  while  they  industriously 
searched  out  their  food,  or  collected  their  materials  for 
building  on  the  same  familiar  old  tree  on  which  they  had 
made  their  last  year's  home. 

Martins,  much  to  the  joy  of  Allen  and  Ernest,  began  to 
sit  on  the  porch  before  the  entrance  to  their  box,  with 
straws  in  their  bills  ;  and  swallows  looked  cunningly  down 
at  them  from  the  rafters  in  the  barn,  laying  their  heads 
together  with  their  funny  little  black  caps,  and  chattering 
away  as  if  in  the  enjoyment  of  some  capital  joke. 

Long  trains  of  matronly  geese,  headed  by  their  strutting 
commander,  waddled  solemnly  to  the  pond,  leading  in 
regular  Indian  file  their  yellow  green  progeny  to  the  bath. 
Bleaching  grounds  were  covered  with  curtains  and  drape- 
ries of  all  fashions  and  fabrics.  Flower-beds  were  raked 
off,  and  shrubbery  pruned  and  trained,  and  the  great  spring 
work  was  fairly  on  the  way.  Then  came  the  overhauling 
of  boxes  and  bags  of  last  year's  seeds,  and  the  neighborly 


SEA- SPRAY.  165 

interchange  of  varieties  of  seed  peas,  early  sweet  corn, 
and  all  sorts  of  savory  and  succulent  esculents.  Ada  be- 
gan to  venture  out,  carefully  wrapped  and  veiled  for  ram- 
bles and  refreshing  exercise,  and  Allen  and  Ernest  to  catch 
mummies  at  the  bridge  or  sail  their  little  ships  on  the  pond. 
The  Sea-spray  sleep  was  broken,  and  all  her  little  world 
busy  and  wide  awake. 

Evelyn  and  Mr.  Alden  were  often  together  in  their  strolls 
along  the  Beach,  or  through  the  silent  shady  lanes  which 
wound  about  Sea-spray.  They  were  out  one  pleasant 
morning,  and,  careless  where  they  strayed  in  their 
friendly  chat,  they  turned  into  the  deep  green  lane  which 
swept  round  the  tasteful  grounds  and  pretty  Gothic  struc- 
ture on  the  corner.  They  had  not  walked  far,  when  they 
met  a  parishioner,  with  whom  Mr.  Alden  stopped  to  ex- 
change greetings  always  kind  and  cordial. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Follen  ;  good  morning.  And  how 
are  you  finding  yourself  this  morning?  Pretty  comfortable, 
I  hope?" 

"Very  well,  thank  Mr.  Alden.  And  how's  Mr.  Al- 
den?" 

"  Comfortable,  comfortable,  I  thank  you.  And  Mrs. 
Follen  and  the  little  ones — quite  well  ?  I  am  happy  to 
hear  it.  And  your  sons  in  California :  successful,  I 
trust  ?" 

"  Yes ;  yes.  I  know  Mr.  Alden  will  be  glad  to  hear 
they  are  in  good  health,  and  making  money  hand  over 
hand." 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  hear  it.  And  what  are  they  en- 
gaged in  at  present  ?" 

"Oh,  they  turn  their  hands  to  anything.  A  little  farm- 
ing, a  little  lumbering,  a  little  carpentering,  a  little  of  one 


166  SEA-SPRAY. 

thing  and  a  little  of  another,  as  they  chance  to  have  time, 
and  business  offers." 

"  Perfectly  right,  Mr.  Follen ;  perfectly  right.  It  is  a 
very  comfortable  thing  to  have  plenty  of  money.  Indeed, 
in  these  days  it  is  very  important  to  have  money.  It  mat- 
ters very  little  how  they  get  it,  so  they  do  but  get  it 
honorably  ;  but  it  is  certainly  very  desirable  to  have  it." 

The  gentlemen  were  about  to  walk  on,  when  Mr.  Follen 
turned  to  speak  again  with  his  pastor. 

"  I've  been  about  speaking  to  Mr.  Alden  sometime  about 
a  family  that  have  been  in  the  house  I  occupy,  nearly  all 
winter.  Somehow  they  got  acquainted  with  Mr.  Dalton, 
my  landlord,  you  know ;  and  he  sent  them  down  with  per- 
mission to  occupy  his  half  of  the  house,  furnished  just  as 
he  left  it.  He  gave  the  man  a  letter  to  Mr.  Ainslie,  and 
he  has  furnished  him  with  writing,  and  in  other  ways,  I 
suspect,  been  very  generous  and  noble  with  him.  But 
they  seem  to  be  miserably  poor,  and  I  think  the  poor  fel- 
low is  on  his  last  legs.  Would  Mr.  Alden  mind  calling  in 
to  see  him  ?" 

" Certainly  not,"  replied  Mr.  Alden;  his  always  ready 
sympathy  at  once  enlisted.  "  But  what  of  the  woman, 
Mr.  Follen?" 

"Poor  shack,  Mr.  Alden;  poor  shack.  I  take  her  to  be 
one  o'  those  scribbling  characters  never  worth  their  salt." 

Follen  turned  on  his  heel ;  and  the  clergyman  and  his 
companion  walked  on  in  social  chat,  Mr.  Alden  remark- 
ing: 

"  I  really  dont  know  exactly  how  to  manage  this  thing. 
If  it  was  a  family  of  wealth  now,  or  one  in  genteel,  com- 
fortable.circumstances,  it  would  be  quite  a  matter  of  course, 
you  know,  a  complimentary  morning  call.  But  destitute 


SEA-SPRAY.  167 

and  suffering  strangers,  in  poverty,  if  there's  pride  with  it, 
— ah,  it's  a  very  delicate  matter  to  meddle  with.  They 
may  think  I  come  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of  the  land ; 
they  may  resent,  as  an  impertinent  intrusion,  what  is 
certainly  done  in  pure  kindness." 

"  Is  it  not  the  privilege  of  your  profession  to  enter,  un- 
invited, the  houses  of  your  parishioners  ?  Eather,  is  it  not 
your  duty,  as  pastor  of  this  pretty  little  parish,  to  make 
yourself  acquainted  with  the  spiritual,  and,  incidentally,  the 
temporal  wants  of  your  people  ?" 

"Certainly.  But  these  can  hardly  be  considered  my 
people.  They  may  be  Mormons,  or  Mahometans,  for 
aught  I  know.  However,  if  they  are  sick  and  suffering,  they 
have  a  claim  on  my  sympathy,  as  a  man  and  a  Christian,  if 
not  on  my  ministrations  as  a  clergyman.  I  heard,  some 
time  ago,  there  was  a  stranger,  a  feeble,  sickly-looking 
gentleman,  occupying  Dalton's  house,  and  writing  for  Ains- 
lie,  but  I  did  not  understand  that  he  was  really  sick,  or  in 
poverty.  I  can  hardly  credit  now  that  he  is  suffering  from 
pecuniary  privations,  if  he  is  in  Ainslie's  employ,  for  he  is 
wealthy,  and  nobly  munificent  towards  all  with  whom  he 
holds  any  business  relations." 

At  this  moment,  the  attention  of  the  two  gentlemen  was 
attracted  by  the  moaning  voice  of  a  child,  apparently  near 
them,  but  not  in  sight.  Turning  round  the  head  of  the 
lane,  which  was  here  crossed  by  another  road,  and  coming 
abruptly  upon  the  cross-road  along  which  their  path  lay, 
they  at  once  caught  sight  of  the  child  whose  voice  they 
had  heard — a  dirty,  ruddy  little  girl,  of  about  five  years, 
with  a  forlorn  and  neglected  air.  She  was  standing  help- 
lessly in  the  hedge,  held  fast  by  a  branch  which  had  pene- 
trated the  skirt  of  her  dress  as  she  was  attempting  to  effect 


168  SEA-SPRAY. 

a  passage  over  the  fence  after  violets,  and  which  was  too 
strong  for  her  little  hands  to  break.  The  child  was  sobbing 
bitterly  in  her  imprisonment,  and  being  on  the  north  side 
of  the  hedge,  out  of  the  sun,  and  full  in  the  sweep  of  a 
cutting  spring  wind,  was  blue  and  chattering  with  cold. 
Mr.  Alden  kindly  drew  near  the  child,  and,  lifting  her  in 
his  arms,  held  her,  while  Evelyn  with  some  difficulty  ex- 
tricated her  dress,  and  set  her  at  liberty. 

"  And  where  do  you  live,  little  Miss  ?"  asked  Mr.  Alden, 
sastisfied  before  she  answered  as  to  who  she  must  be. 

The  child  pointed  to  the  house  to  which  they  were  di- 
recting their  steps. 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  little  lady,"  asked  Mr.  Alden. 

"  Sike,"  answered  the  child. 

"  So,  your  papa  is  Mr.  Sike,  is  he  ?" 

"O  no,  indeed,"  replied  the  child,  laughing  at  the  thought. 

"  Papa's  name  is  Copperly,  and  my  name  is  Sike  Cop- 
perly," 

Evelyn  smiled,  as  he  turned  towards  the  puzzled  pastor. 

"I  presume  your  friend  in  the  lane  was  right  in  his  judg- 
ment, as  to  the  literary  propensities.  The  name  is  proba- 
bly Psyche." 

"  My  name  is  Sike  ;  there's  no  '  kee'  to  it.  Mother  says 
that's  babyish,  and  she  wont  let  father  call  me  Siky ;  she 
says  its  weak,"  said  the  young  lady,  rather  pertly. 

"  You  have  not  lived  here  long,  I  think,"  inquired  the 
pastor. 

"  No ;  we  come  from  New- York,  for  father  was  sick, 
and  it  tired  him  to  tend  baby.  Mother  had  to  go  to  'socia- 
tion  so  much,  grandfather  Copperly  thought  we  had  better 
come  in  the  country.  So  the  nice  little  gentleman  with 
the  pretty  black  eyes  said  we  might  live  in  his  house. 
Are  you  going  to  see  our  folks  ?" 


SEA-SPRAY.  169 

"  We  heard  your  father  was  sick,  and  we  thought  of 
calling  to  see  him.  Do  you  think  he  would  like  to  see  us  ?" 

"Oh,  it  don't  make  much  difference  what  father  likes  : 
Yes,  I  guess  he  will.  Oh,  I  am  glad  you  are  going — won't 
mother  talk  ?"  The  young  lady  evidently  inherited  her 
mother's  propensity,  if  her  passion  was  for  conversation ; 
for  she  talked  without  intermission,  till  they  reached  the 
house,  when  she  left  them  to  find  their  way  in,  saying  she 
was  "  going  round  to  the  back  door,  for  if  she  went  in 
the  room  father  would  want  her  to  rock  the  cradle." 

Mr.  Alden  knocked  with  his  cane  on  the  outer  door,  and 
waited  ;  again  and  again  he  repeated  the  summons.  After 
a  long  time,  Mrs.  Follen  came  to  the  door,  the  very  personi- 
fication of  housewifely  neatness,  apologizing  for  the  delay, 
by  saying  she  was  busy  on  her  bleaching  ground,  and  had 
just  come  in.  At  Mr.  Alden's  request,  she  ushered  the 
gentlemen  into  the  apartment  occupied  by  the  Cop- 
perlys,  simply  announcing  the  "  Pastor  of  the  Parish " 
to  Mr.  Copperly,  and  withdrew.  Copperly  rose  from  his 
chair,  and  sunk  immediately  back  again,  being  too  feeble  to 
advance,  but  placed  his  attenuated  hand,  cold  and  damp, 
with  a  faltering  expression  of  welcome,  in  that  kindly  ex- 
tended by  the  clergyman,  who  drew  a  chair  for  himself, 
and  entered  into  friendly  inquiries  as  to  his  health  ;  while 
Evelyn  followed  his  example,  with  a  feeling  of  deep  com- 
miseration for  the  pale  untended  invalid.  Mrs.  Copperly 
was  standing  at  an  ordinary  "  bureau,"  writing  rapidly. 
She  turned  her  head  carelessly  when  they  entered,  but 
took  no  further  note  of  their  presence.  The  breakfast  table 
stood,  apparently,  just  as  the  family  had  left  it :  and  on  the 
floor  near  it,  stood  a  plate  of  cakes  swimming  in  molasses, 
which  a  sturdy  boy  of  three  years,  or  thereabouts,  had 


170  SEA-SPRAY. 

placed  there  for  his  own  especial  pleasure  and  accommo- 
dation. A  cradle,  with  an  infant  sleeping  in  it,  stood  near 
Copperly,  and  his  long,  fleshless  fingers  rested  upon  it,  as  if 
from  force  of  habit,  for  the  child  was  still.  The  fire  had  gone 
out  on  the  hearth,  which  was  untidy ;  and  there  was  a  general 
air  of  chill  discomfort  pervading  the  apartment.  Copperly 
was  sitting  in  a  large  chair,  comfortable  enough  if  it  had 
been  cushioned,  in  his  dressing  gown,  and  what  had  once 
been  slippers,  of  which  little  was  left  but  the  soles,  with  his 
cloak  flung  around  him,  its  silk  velvet  facings,  and  frayed 
gray  cord  and  trimmings,  speaking  of  better  days.  Phials 
and  cups  and  spoons  on  the  mantel,  told  of  drugs  and  emol- 
lient restoratives,  while  the  wan,  haggard  looks  of  the  suf- 
ferer were  a  sufficient  comment  upon  their  utter  inefficacy. 

"  I  hope,  my  dear  sir,  you  do  not  suffer  much,"  said  the 
pastor. 

"  Not  much  pain,  generally  ;  it  is  this  harrassing  cough, 
aggravated  by  some  unavoidable  exposure,  which  has  bro- 
ken me  down  so  rapidly  since  March  came  in."  He  stop- 
ped and  panted  :  he  had  said  all  he  could. 

"  March  is  a  very  trying  month,"  replied  the  pastor, 
encouragingly;  "we  shall  have  mild,  pleasant  weather 
now,  and  I  trust  you  will  recruit  under  it." 

Copperly  leaned  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  but 
lie  made  no  reply. 

"  Do  you  rest  well  ?  are  your  nights  much  disturbed  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  have  a  pleasant  night's  rest,  under  the 
influence  of  anodynes,  if  I  am  not  otherwise  disturbed." 
He  paused  to  rest  awhile,  and  then  went  on :  "I  believe 
I  am  more  feeble  and  exhausted  than  usual  this  morning. 
Mrs.  Copperly  was  writing  till  a  very  late  hour,  and  the 
babe  was  unusually  worrying  and  restless :  I  lifted  and 
tended  him  more  perhaps  than  was  good  for  me." 


SEA-SPRAY.  171 

The  kind  pastor  felt  particularly  savage ;  and  if  looks 
could  have  annihilated,  Mrs.  Copperly's  literary  pursuits 
would  have  come  to  a  sudden  termination.  But  Mrs.  Cop- 
perly  did  not  see  the-  wrathful  glance  ;  so  it  fell  harmless 
on  her  unscathed  back  and  shoulders.  But  her  task  for 
the  present  was  accomplished,  and  she  plunged  her  pen, 
stock  and  all,  into  a  half-pint  bottle  of  ink,  cleaned  the  ink 
from  her  besmeared  fingers  with  her  lips,  and,  drying  them 
on  her  unkempt  locks,  came  forward  with  beaming  smiles 
and  curtsies,  to  greet  her  visitors. 

"1  am  certain  the  gentlemen  will  excuse  me.  Those 
lovely  visions  of  fancy,  which  sometimes  glance  across 
the  mirror  of  mind,  are  so  airy  and  evanescent — if  they  are 
not  caught  on  the  wing,  gentlemen,  those  bright  flashes 
and  scintillations  of  genius — we  are  so  liable  to  lose 
them,  if  the  breath  of  care  or  vulgar  domestic  avocations 
float  over  the  mirror  of  mind,  that  inner  temple — the  very 
shrine,  I  may  say,  of  Sike  is  dimmed,  and  the  beautiful  cre- 
ations of  intellect  are  lost  when  we  most  wish  to  secure 
them.  1  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me,  gentlemen,  I  had  just 
then  such  a  sweet  little  conception  which  I  wished  to  em- 
body." 

Mr.  Alden  glanced  at  the  neglected  husband  and  the 
comfortless  apartment,  and  wished  that  her  conceptions 
of  sympathy  and  dutiful  kindness  would  prompt  her  to  a 
more  affectionate  and  faithful  discharge  of  her  conjugal 
and  maternal  duties ;  but  it  would  not  answer  to  say  so, 
and  he  bowed  and  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Copperly  was  rather 
a  pretty  looking  woman,  with  a  slight  trim  figure,  in  a  close 
fitting  morning-dress,  not  over  clean,  with  a  full  rich  head 
of  hair,  beautiful  if  it  had  been  tastefully  and  tidily  arrang- 
ed ;  a  pretty  little  foot,  very  carelessly  thrust  into  stringless 


172  SEA-SPRAY. 

buskins,  burst  out  at  the  ball,  and  a  small,  symmetrical  hand, 
which  would  have  been  delicate  if  it  had  not  been  dirty. 
She  was  decidedly  and  professedly  "  a  woman  of  parts," 
and  she  looked  at  her  guests  as  if  she  expected  a  "  bravo," 
when  she  had  delivered  herself  of  the  nonsensical  piece  of 
elocution  with  which  she  had  opened  upon  them.  If  she 
had  any  definite  idea  embodied  in  the  great  frame-work  of 
words  which  she  had  thrown  out  with  so  much  volubility, 
it  had  entirely  escaped  them,  or  was  possibly  above  their 
comprehension.  So  they  waited  quietly  for  another  explo- 
sion. 

"  I  am  unusually  occupied  this  morning,  gentlemen.  I 
have  had  the  honor  of  being  elected  to  lecture  before  the 
'  Association  for  the  Assertion  and  Vindication  of  Wo- 
man's Rights,'  which  holds  its  quarterly  meeting  in  New- 
York  next  week  ;  and  I  calculate  to  leave,  in  compliance 
with  the  appointment,  to-morrow  morning." 

"  You  don't  mean,  you  can't  possibly  mean,  that  you  are 
going  to  leave  your  husband  in  his  present  very  precarious 
state?  I  will  not  believe  you  can  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Cop- 
perly." 

The  good  clergyman  spoke  earnestly,  almost  angrily. 

"  Copperly  is  more  fidgety  than  feeble.  But,  admitting 
him  to  be  in  reality  as  weak  as  he  knows  how  to  appear, 
the  path  of  duty  is  plain  before  me.  The  duty  I  owe  to 
the  sacred  cause  to  which  I  have  consecrated  my  powers 
is  paramount;  and  no  shackles  of  domestic  cares  shall 
deter  me  from  lifting  my  voice  in  behalf  of  my  oppressed 
and  suffering  sex."  /The  lady  paused  ;  not  that  she  was 
out  of  breath,  or  wanted  words.  It  was  merely  an  em- 
phatic, impressive  pause,  the  eloquence  of  manner,  more 
persuasive  than  words  ;  a  little  interval,  to  let  the  thrill  of 


SEA-SPRAY.  173 

admiration  subside  in  the  hearts  of  her  hearers  before  she 
gave  them  another  shock.  Meantime  there  were  manifesta- 
tions of  uneasiness  among  the  blankets.  The  lady  turned, 
with  a  gentle  reminder :  "  the  cradle,  Copperly."  Cop- 
perly  laid  his  hand  on  the  cradle,  with  scarce  the  power  to 
move  it,  and  Mrs.  Copperly  went  on  : 

"  Emancipation,  gentlemen  ;  emancipation — (the  cradle, 
Copperly) — emancipation,  gentlemen,  is  now  the  great 
battle-cry  of  my  hitherto  benighted  and  derogated  sex — 
(the  cradle,  Copperly) — the  watch-word,  the  countersign — 
(I  say,  Copperly,  the  cradle") — Evelyn  put  his  hand  on  the 
cradle,  and  the  speaker  resumed  :  "  Emancipation,  gentle- 
men, let  me  say" — and  the  lady  rose  in  the  warmth  of  her 
subject — "  emancipation  is  the  grand  cabalistic  rallying- 
cry  of  my  protesting  and  chain-breaking  sex.  Woman  is 
waking  up,  gentlemen  ;  woman  is  aroused  to  a  sense  of 
the  deep  injustice  to  which  she  has  been  the  slave." 

Copperly  began  to  cough.  Mrs.  Copperly  shoved  the 
spittoon  nearer  him  with  her  foot,  but  did  not  look 
towards  him. 

"  The  grand  question,  gentlemen,  of  woman's  inalienable 
rights" — Copperly's  cough  increased,  and  the  babe  nestled 
and  whined.  "  The  cradle,  Copperly."  Evelyn  was 
swinging  the  babe  in  its  nest,  but  she  did  not  perceive  it. 

"  The  grand  question  of  woman's  emancipation  from 
the  iniquitous  bondage  under  which  she  has  so  long 
groaned" — 

Copperly's  cough  became  dreadfully  distressing,  and  he 
was  exhausted  and  almost  helpless.  The  attention  of  the 
kind  visitors  was  entirely  engrossed  in  the  vain  endeavor  to 
minister  to  his  relief,  while  the  lady,  intent  on  rehearsing 
her  speech  before  the  "  Association,"  proceeded  : 


174  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  The  grand  question  has  at  length  been  agitated,  and 
the  whole  world  is  heaving  in  the  throes  of  a  mighty  revo- 
lution. Woman  is  in  the  field.  She  is  mustering  her 
forces ;  she  is  marshaling  her  hosts.  My  sex  has  at  last 
arisen  to  assert  the  dignity  of  woman,  and  our  cry  is, 
equality :  equal  civil  rights  and  political  privileges.  Our 
demands  are  office,  station,  prerogative,  precedence,  power, 
emancipation  from  the  galling  yoke  of  subjugation.  Our 
motto  is,  '  down  with  man's  supremacy,'  and  our  march  is 
onward." 

The  lady  came  to  a  pause,  and  set  down  her  foot,  with  a 
flourish,  in  the  plate  of  molasses.  Her  onward  march  was 
stayed  for  the  present,  and  she  had  the  womanly  grace  to 
blush  at  her  ridiculous  position.  Copperly  had  ceased  to 
cough ;  but  he  was  lying  back  in  his  chair,  panting  and 
weary,  the  great  drops  of  perspiration  standing  cold  on  his 
hands  and  face.  Mr.  Alden  took  the  tongs  and  endeavored 
to  awaken  the  fire,  but  it  was  out  of  the  question,  and  he 
called  Mrs.  Copperly's  attention  to  the  fact,  reminding  her 
that  the  room  was  too  cold  for  her  husband's  comfort  or 
safety,  and  that  he  needed  kind  nursing  and  unremitting 
care.  She  seemed  to  feel  a  little  conscious  of  her  neglect ; 
and  coming  up  to  his  chair  with  some  show  of  feeling,  she 
inquired : 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  your  comfort,  Andrew  ?" 
Copperly  opened  his  eyes  with  an  expression  of  pleased 
surprise  at  the  unwonted  attention,  looked  her  full  in  the 
face  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied  in  a  hoarse  whisper  : 
"  Stay  with  me,  Susan,  a  little,  very  little  while  longer." 
"  What !  and  disappoint  the  Association  ?     It  is  absurd 
to  ask  it — it  is  utterly  impossible.     Are  you  mad,   Cop- 
perly?" 


SEA-SPRAY.  175 

"  Are  you  mad,  Mrs.  Copperly  ?''  asked  Mr.  Alden,  pro- 
voked beyond  his  endurance  with  -her  heartless  folly. 
"  Are  you  mad,  that  you  cannot,  or  will  not  see  that  your 
husband  is  dying?  How  can  you  leave  him  ?  Who  is  to 
take  charge  of  your  little  ones,  or  superintend  your  do- 
mestic affairs,  if  you  abandon  them  ?" 

The  lady  turned  upon  the  speaker  with  a  look  of  angry 
surprise. 

"  And  may  I  not  be  allowed  to  be  competent  to  make 
my  own  arrangements  ?  It  is  time,  indeed,  that  the  rights 
of  my  abused  sex  were  asserted,  when  a  man,  an  entire 
stranger,  presumes  to  meddle  with  my  private  personal  and 
domestic  concerns.  You  may  attend  to  your  preaching, 
sir  priest,  if  that  is  your  vocation,  and  leave  me  to  manage 
my  own  affairs." 

"  Susan,  Susan,  you  will  kill  me  !  Are  you  utterly  lost 
to  reason  and  common  sense  ?"  panted  poor  Copperly. 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind.  I  did  speak  rather  plainly, 
perhaps.  It  was  none  of  my  business  ;  let  it  pass.  I  am 
not  disturbed  by  it,  don't  let  it  distress  you.  That  is  the 
only  thing  that  is  of  any  consequence  in  the  business,"  said 
the  kind  clergyman,  who  could  have  laughed  heartily  at 
the  rebuke  he  had  called  upon  himself,  but  for  the  pain  it 
had  caused  elsewhere. 

Mrs.  Copperly  left  the  room  in  search  of  fuel,  and 
Copperly  expressed,  in  few  and  broken  sentences,  his  thanks 
to  the  gentlemen  for  their  kindness,  and  his  earnest  wish 
that  they  would  come  soon  again  to  visit  him. 

"  Bear  with  poor  Susan.  She  was  not  what  she  is  now, 
when  I  married  her — she  was  neat,  industrious,  unpretend- 
ing and  affectionate — a  discreet,  prudent,  loving  wife — a 
fond,  devoted  mother.  My  little  home  was  a  paradise. 


176  SEA-SPRAY. 

The  wild  notions  of  the  day  have  ruined  her.  Come  again, 
gentlemen.  It  wont  be  long  that  I  shall  need  care  from 
any  one.  I  have  sent,  without  Susan's  knowledge,  for  my 
father.  I  hope  things  will  mend,  under  his  influence." 

Copperly  was  rallying,  under  the  influence  of  an  opiate, 
and  the  gentlemen  left  him,  promising  to  see  him  again, 
soon.  They  had  walked  some  distance  from  the  house, 
before  either  spoke.  Then  Mr.  Alden  broke  the  silence, 
remarking  : 

"  What  a  wretched  life  for  poor  Copperly  ?  Heaven 
help  the  man  who  is  married  to  a  '  woman  of  talent.'  " 

"  You  would  hardly  call  the  silly,  slatternly  woman  we 
have  just  seen,  a  '  woman  of  talent,'  "  replied  Evelyn. 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  mean  to  admit  her  pretensions  to  actual 
intellectual  superiority.  I  meant  women  of  her  class — as- 
pirants for  positions  they  have  not  capacity  to  fill — pre- 
suming to  teach,  when  they  are  almost  incapable  of 
learning." 

"  I  should  think  Mrs.  Copperly  had  just  that  little,  mis- 
chievous smattering  of  magazine  literature  and  parlor 
small-talk,  which  is  calculated  to  make  a  silly  parrot  of  a 
woman  of  frivolous  intellect,  who,  in  her  weakness,  does 
not  know  quite  enough  to  understand  her  deficiencies  of 
capacity  and  culture.  But,"  continued  Evelyn,  "what  are 
we  to  do  for  the  poor,  helpless  husband  ?  This  seems  to 
be  a  case  calling  for  prompt  action.  For  any  pecuniary 
aid,  I  shall  be  happy  if  you  will  look  to  me.  For  the 
mode,  I  look  to  you."  . 

"  I  thought  we  would  look  round  this  way,  and  drop  in 
upon  our  good  friend,  Mr.  Welby.  I  always  like  to  enlist 
his  sympathies  in  all  matters  calling  for  substantial  aid ; 
for  his  hand  is  always  open,  and  ready  for  any  good 
work." 


SEA-SPRAY.  177 

As  they  walked  on,  the  road  they  were  following  led 
along  the  rear  of  the  dwellings  on  the  western  side  of 
the  main  street  of  the  village ;  and  Mr.  Alden  enlivened 
the  way  with  much  interesting  chat,  as  the  different 
objects  in  view  suggested  matter  for  comment ;  point- 
ing out  pleasant  locations  for  dwellings,  and  tracts  of 
land  eligible  for  investment  of  capital  and  capabilities  of 
improvement. 

Evelyn  listened  and  observed  with  interest,  for  his  deter- 
mination  to  make  Sea-spray  hisjiome  eventually,  strength- 
ened daily,  and  he  wished  to  be  not  merely  a  resident,  but 
to  be  received  as  an  active,  useful  citizen,  a  neighbor  and 
friend,  by  the  people  among  whom  he  had  chosen  to  cast 
his  lot. 

"  1  understand,  by  the  by,  Mr.  Evelyn,  that  the  Grandly 
place  is  for  sale.  Would  not  that  meet  your  views  ?  It 
is  a  very  pretty  situation,  within  very  convenient  distance 
of  all  places  of  business,  the  church,  schools,  post-office, 
&c.  The  house  is  modern  and  commodious,  and  the 
grounds  dressed  expensively  and  tastefully." 

"It  would  be  just  the  place  to  suit  me;  but  Mrs.  Evelyn 
makes  it  a  point  that  our  residence  be  out  of  the  village, 
and  entirely  secluded." 

"  She  is  very  averse  to  society,  I  observe,"  remarked 
Mr.  Alden. 

"  She  is.  I  hope  she  will  overcome  the  feeling.  It  is 
the  result  of  peculiar  and  painful  trials,  and  has  been  so 
strengthened  by  long  indulgence,  that  it  has  become  a  con- 
firmed  trait  of  character.  I  am  anxious  to  see  her  get  the 
better  of  it ;  it  deprives  us  both  of  much  pleasant  social  in- 
tercourse." 

8 


178  SEA-SPRAY. 

A  shade  came  over  Evelyn's  countenance,  and  he 
sighed  as  he  concluded. 

It  was  plain  to  Mr.  Alden's  watchful  eye  that  there  was 
a  cloud  upon  Evelyn's  domestic  relations,  and  that  he  was 
not  himself  fully  acquainted  with  all  the  motives  which 
actuated  Ada's  sometimes  wilful  decisions. 

The  gentlemen  by  this  time  had  made  the  circuit  of  the 
block,  and  reached  the  residence  of  Mr.  Welby,  who  rose 
with  cordial  greetings  from  his  study  chair,  and  advanced 
with  extended  hand  to  welcome  his  guests, 

After  some  preliminary  chat,  Mr.  Alden  opened  the  ob- 
ject of  his  mission.  But  few  words  were  needed.  "  Suf- 
fering," "  destitution,"  were  the  "  open  sesame"  to  Mr. 
Welby's  heart,  to  which  the  appeal  of  the  poor  and  needy 
was  never  made  in  vain. 

"  You*  know,  Mr.  Alden,  I  'am  altogether  inefficient  in 
the  sick-room,  being  wholly  unaccustomed  to  anything  of 
the  kind  ;  but  for  whatever  is  needful  in  pecuniary  matters, 
I  am  at  your  service.  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  be 
your  banker.  You  will  act,  if  you  please,  in  this  business 
in  your  own  name.  I  should  dislike  to  appear  in  it.  It  is 
the  province  of  your  calling,  but  would  be  excessively  awk- 
ward for  me,  an  utter  stranger." 

Mr.  Welby's  hand  was  on  his  cabinet  key,  for  his  feel- 
ings were  not  of  that  convenient  kind  that  can  find  pleasant- 
est  vent  in  words,  nor  of  that  lachrymose  character  that  is 
pacified  with  a  groan  and  a  sanctimonious  roll  of  the  eyes, 
with  a  scant  tear  in  one  corner ;  but  they  generally  took 
the  surest  and  shortest  road  to  relief,  direct  through  his 
pocket,  and  spoke  in  the  language  most  efficacious  and 
generally  intelligible— the  jingle  of  coin.  Mr.  Welby 
silently  placed  in  the  hand  of  the  kind-hearted  pastor  a 


SEA-SPRAT.  179 

munificent  sum ;  and,  after  some  little  desultory  chat,  the 
gentlemen  took  their  leave,  Mr.  Alden  promising  to  report 
progress  on  the  Copperly  question,  as  soon  as  he  had  ma- 
tured his  plans  for  delicately  extending  the  aid  Mr.  Welby 
had  so  generously  placed  at  his  control. 

Evelyn  found  Ernest  and  Allen  deep  in  the  mysteries 
of  tailing  a  kite,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  their  play-fel- 
lows, suggesting,  assisting  and  enjoying  the  anticipated 
flight.  The  bloom  was  deepening  in  Ernest's  cheek,  and 
the  flesh  was  rounding  on  his  limbs.  He  could  run,  and 
jump,  and  laugh,  with  as  joyous  glee  as  any  :  and  his  fath- 
er's heart  was  gladdened  in  the  simplest  spot  that  bright- 
ened the  eye  of  his  boy,  who,  but  for  his  occasional  fits  of 
dreaminess,  was  a  very  child,  in  his  eager  love  of  play  and 
boyish  sports. 

Ada  stood  looking  from  the  window  at  the  busy  little 
company  tying  their  stripes  of  torn  muslin,  and  regulating 
the  necessary  proportion  of  streamers  to  steady  and  bal- 
ance the  huge  mass  of  bamboo  and  paper  which  they  had 
been  several  days  constructing.  It  seemed  as  if  every 
pleasant  sight  came  to  her  eyes  through  a  distorted  me- 
dium ;  as  if  every  sweet  cup  had  some  embittering  and 
poisoning  ingredient ;  every  cheerful  and  bright  thought 
some  overshadowing  and  gloomy  association.  Invol- 
untarily giving  utterance  to  her  unsatisfactory  self-commu- 
nings,  she  exclaimed  nervously,  turning  and  twisting  her 
slender  fingers  : 

"'  Visiting  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,'  oh 
that  tremendous  and  crushing  thought,  how  my  heart 
writhes  under  it."  She  turned  away  with  a  quick,  agitated 
motion,  and  her  husband  stood  by  her  side. 

"  It  is  a  thought,  dear  Ada,  fraught  with  solemn   and 


180  SEA-SPRAY. 

startling  import  to  parents  ;  and  I  have  pondered  it  often 
with  severe  and  searching  self-examination." 

"  Can  it  be,  Walter,  that  the  sins  of  the  parents  art  visi- 
ited  on  the  children  ?  Is  it  just,  is  it  merciful,  to  punish 
the  innocent  for  the  sins  of  the  guilty  ?  Oh,  say  not  that 
it  is :  say  it  not,  Walter,  my  husband ! " 

"  I  cannot  contradict  the  sacred  authority  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, Ada :  It  is  one  of  the  express  declarations  of  the 
Decalogue.  But  1  do  not  understand  it,  as  many  do,  as  a 
threat  of  Divine  vengeance,  punishing  children  for  the 
transgressions  of  parents.  Vindictiveness,  Ada,  is  not  one 
of  the  Divine  attributes."  '\ 

" '  Visiting  the  sins  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children,'  the 
words  are  very  plain,  Walter.  What  do  they  mean,  if  not 
literally  just  what  they  say  ?" 

"They  do  mean  just  .what  they  say.  If  men  make 
unto  themselves  idols  of  their  vicious  propensities — if  they 
bow  down  to  intemperance,  or  gluttony,  or  to  licentious 
sensuality  in  any  form,  whereby  the  healthful  and  vigorous 
action  of  intellectual  or  physical  energies  are  impaired — if 
they  stultify  and  brutalize  their  own  natures,  and  weaken 
and  destroy  their  own  constitutions,  by  indulgence  in  de- 
basing debaucheries — do  we  not  see  the  effect  in  disease,  in 
deformity,  in  physical  wretchedness,  in  mental  imbecility, 
'  even  unto  the  third  generation,'  as  a  natural  and  inevi- 
table inheritance,  Ada,  not  as  a  vengeful  visitation." 

"  Then  if  you  or  I  had  committed  one  single,  solitary, 
though  very  great  sin,  you  would  not  expect  signal  ven- 
geance to  be  executed  on  Ernest  ?  He  would  not,  he  could 
not  be  made  to  expiate  that  sin  ?" 

"  Let  us  hope  not,  at  least :  Let  us  prayerfully  endeav- 
or to  look  well  to  our  ways,  that  we  cherish  no  unre- 


SEA-SPRAY.  181 

pented  sin  in  our  hearts,  or  heedlessly  expose  ourselves  to 
any  temptation  for  the  commission  of  new  ones." 

Ada  was  very  pale.  She  strained  her  locked  fingers 
tightly  over  her  heart,  but  she  made  no  further  remark, 
and  the  subject  was  not  resumed. 

Mr.  Alden  executed  his  mission  delicately.  Having 
made  such  arrangements  as  seemed  best  adapted  to  meet 
easily  the  emergency,  he  again  ventured  to  brave  the 
wrath  of  the  outraged  Mrs.  Copperly. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  she  received  him  with  easy  polite- 
ness, and  with  no  apparent  recollection  of  the  offence  he 
had  given  her  on  his  previous  visit.  Appearances  were 
somewhat  improved :  a  cheerful  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
"swept  and  garnished"  hearth;  Mrs.  Copperly  was  her- 
self minding  the  cradle ;  and  Miss  "  Sike,"  with  a  clean 
face  and  a  mended  frock,  was  busily  dressing  her  doll  on 
the  floor.  Copperly  was  dozing  in  his  accustomed  seat, 
and  less  oppressed  and  feeble  than  before.  Mr.  Alden  took 
his  chair  by  the  side  of  the  invalid,  and  entered  into  con- 
versation on  easy  and  indifferent  subjects,  leading  skilfully 
round  to  matters  of  present  and  individual  interest,  and 
drawing,  without  apparent  premeditation  from  Copperly, 
a  frank  and  explicit  statement  of  his  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ments, and  of  the  painful  privations  to  which  his  inability 
to  attend  to  business  had  subjected  him  ;  Mrs.  Copperly 
pathetically  expatiating  upon  the  disappointment  she  had 
suffered  in  not  having  at  her  command  the  requisite  sum  to 
meet  the  expenses  of  her  projected  visit  to  New- York. 

"And  did  you  intend  taking  my  little  friend,  Miss 
Psyche,  with  you  ?"  asked  Mr.  Alden,  wishing  to  appease, 
if  possible,  the  offended  dignity  of  the  champion  of  female 
rights. 


182  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  I  did  not ;  but  please,  sir,  don't  call  the  child  Siky,  it 
is  effeminate,  and  I  wish  to  teach  her  self-reliance  and  con- 
tempt for  these  little  babyish  diminutives,  with  which 
children  and  women  are  made  so  silly.  Her  name  was 
Hannah,  after  Copperly's  mother,  but  I  have  changed  it 
recently.  Syke  is  so  beautifully  significant." 

"  Do  you  intend  still  to  fulfill  your  engagement,  and  to 
attend  the  meeting  of  your  Association  ?  Don't  be  offended, 
nor  think  me  officious ;  believe  me,  my  only  wish  is  to 
make  the  situation  of  your  husband  more  comfortable. 
You  cannot  be  ignorant,  I  think,  that  his  case  is  critical  ?" 

"  I  know  he  thinks  it  is,  and  I  am  aware  that  goes  a 
great  ways,  but  I  have  a  mission  to  fulfill,  a  very  exalting 
and  self-sacrificing  mission.  I  know  men  despise  it,  and 
deny  it ;  but,  with  the  spirit  of  Mary  Woolstoncraft  in  my 
heart,  if  not  her  burning  eloquence  on  my  tongue,  or  her 
convincing  argument  on  my  pen,  I  shall  follow  where  she 
has  led  the  way." 

"  It  is  a  perilous  path,  Mrs.  Copperly,  and  one  no  pure- 
minded  woman  would  willingly  tread.  Let  me  hope  you 
will  not  be  misled  by  her  sophistry.  Have  you  studied  her 
works  ?" 

"  I  am  not  so  ignorant  as  you  seem  to  suppose  me,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Copperly,  tartly. 

It  was  very  evident  her  knowledge  of  Mary  Woolston- 
craft, so  ostentatiously  paraded,  was  but  second-hand  ;  and 
her  parroted  period  but  the  remembered  eloquence  of  some 
brighter  light  in  the  movement  for  emancipation.  Poor 
Mrs.  Copperly  was  not  by  any  means  one  of  the  master 
spirits  who  originate  reforming  measures.  Hers  was  not  of 
that  order  of  genius  that  plans  and  matures,  excites  and  ex- 
ecutes projects  for  extensive  and  ameliorating  operations — 


SEA-SPRAY.  188 

that  investigates  and  overturns,  and  improves  the  existing 
order  of, things,  and  introduces  new  systems  of  social 
organization  and  new  codes  of  ethics,  changing  the  relative 
position  of  parties,  making  the  weak  strong  and  the  strong 
weak.  She  was  one  of  the  victims  of  the  social  revolu- 
tion ;  one  of  the  deluded  and  weak,  overturned  and 
trampled  down  in  the  mighty  stampede  of  woman  rushing 
after  her  rights ;  and  Copperly,  dying,  broken-hearted  and 
deserted,  but  for  the  pitying  kindness  of  strangers,  was  but 
one  among  the  many  who  have  found  the  fire  going  out  on 
the  domestic  altar,  and  the  heart  and  the  hearth  round 
which  their  hopes  centered,  growing  cold  together. 

But  for  the  neglected  duties,  the  uncared  for  children, 
the  comfortless  homes,  and  the  discouraged  hearts  which 
follow  the  heartless  dereliction  of  duty  of  the  misguided 
dupes  of  such  futile  folly,  it  would  be  of  little  moment  how 
fast  or  how  far  the  mischievous  instigators  tramped  in  their 
"  onward  march." 

"  I  intend,"  said  Mrs.  Copperly,  "  to  inure  Syke  to  hard- 
ships and  struggles,  to  strengthen  and  expand  her  mental 
powers,  and  to  teach  her  to  despise  all  little  womanish 
fears  and  affectations  of  delicacy.  I  shall  accustom  her  to 
fighting  her  own  way,  and  to  taking  care  of  herself,  without 
feeling  the  degrading  necessity  of  a  male  protector.  She 
shall  be  taught  her  independence,  her  claims  to  equality, 
and  her  strength  to  defend  them.  If  she  is  to  be  subjected 
to  the  restraints  of  laws,  she  shall  feel  and  assert  her  right 
to  a  share  in  framing  them.  She  shall  never  be  the  bond- 
slave her  mother  is."  And  Mrs.  Copperly  darted  a  wrath- 
ful glance  at  her  husband,  who  was  flushing  with  the  fever 
of  shame  and  mortification. 

"  I  shall  follow  the  advice  of  Mary  Woolstoncraft,  which 


184  SEA-SPRAT. 

is,  '  to  cultivate  her  understanding,  to  save  her  from  the 
weak,  dependent  state  of  harmless  ignorance.'  For  it  is 
the  right  use  of  reason  alone  which  makes  us  independent 
of  everything,  except  the  unclouded  reason  whose  service 
is  perfect  freedom,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Copperly. 

The  pastor  replied  : 

"  The  right  use  of  reason  I  grant  you.  But  are  there 
not  high  and  holy  standards  for  practical  as  well  as  theo- 
retical guidance,  without  resorting  to  the  pernicious  teach- 
ings of  a  weak  and  fallible  (even  admitting  that  she  was 
not  a  wicked)  woman  ?" 

"  I  have  not  troubled  myself  about  her  religion  or  her 
morals.  All  I  have  to  do  with,  is,  her  nobly  uttered  senti- 
ments on  the  great  question  so  long  suffered  to  sleep  after 
she  awakened  it — the  rights  of  my  sex.  Hear  her  con- 
cluding argument :  '  Let  woman  share  the  rights  and  she 
will  emulate  the  virtues  of  man,  for  she  must  grow  more 
perfect  when  emancipated.'  Denying  her  rights,  you  re- 
lease her  from  duties,  for  rights  and  duties  are  insepara- 
ble." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Copperly,"  replied  the  pastor,  with  a 
pleasant  smile,  "  I  cannot  outreason  your  oracle,  and  I 
did  not  come  here  this  time  to  have  a  tilt  with  you  on 
a  subject  you  seem  to  have  studied  so  deeply,  to  the 
neglect,  I  fear,  (pardon  my  plainness  in  saying  so,)  of  some 
positive  and  imperative  duties.  It  is  a  privilege  as  well  as 
a  duty  incident  to  my  calling,  to  reprove  and  counsel  erring 
weakness,  and,  so  far  as  my  feeble  voice  goes,  to  recall 
and  reclaim  those  whom  I  see  going  astray.  Let  me 
entreat  you  to  consider  whither  you  are  wandering." 

Mrs.  Copperly  looked  rather  pleased.  Was  she  not 
enduring  rebuke  and  suffering  persecution  ?  It  was  good  ; 


SEA-SPRAY.  185 

and  she  congratulated  herself  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  little 
prospective  martyrdom.  The  idea  was  so  agreeable,  that 
it  warmed  her  heart  toward  the  person  who  had  excited 
it,  and  she  replied  very  pleasantly  : 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  put  the  case  very  plainly,  but  it 
is  nothing  new.  Our  noble  enterprise  has  met  more  de- 
termined opposition  from  the  clergy  than  from  any  other 
class  of  the  community.  It  is  not  strange,  for  I  trust  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  their  claim  to  the  exclusive 
occupancy  of  the  pulpit  will  be  found  not  so  indisputable 
as,  at  present,  they  seem  to  imagine  it.  Opposition,  sir, 
is  what  we  expect  from  your  brethren ;  but  it  will  not 
deter  us." 

"  I  fear  not,  so  I  will  not  contend  with  you.  It  is  an 
old  saying,  '  put  a  beggar  on  horseback  and  he  will  ride' — 
a  desperate  chase,  Mrs.  Copperly  ;  to  which  I  will  venture 
to  add,  let  a  wilful  woman  once  get  well  mounted  on  her 
hobby,  and  she  will  resolutely  follow  him." 

At  this  moment  a  tremendous  outcry  burst  from  the 
yard  in  the  rear  of  the  house — the  screeching  voice  of  a 
child,  either  dreadfully  outraged  or  dreadfully  injured. 
Copperly  looked  alarmed  and  startled ;  and  Mrs.  Copperly, 
after  some  dignified  delay,  walked  out,  scorning  to  exhibit 
the  feminine  weakness  of  being  flustered,  but  returned 
immediately,  betraying  some  symptoms  of  silly  motherly 
solicitude,  saying  that  Syke,  who  had  been  some  time  fol- 
lowing her  own  desires,  unheeded  by  her  mother,  had 
placed  herself  in  a  position  of  peril,  having  climbed  upon 
the  carriage-house,  on  the  steep  roof  of  which  she  was  now 
with  great  difficulty  maintaining  her  footing. 

Mr.  Alden  went  out  at  once,  to  render  such  assistance  as 
he  could  ;  but  some  men  at  work  in  an  adjoining  field  had 

8* 


186  SEA-SPRAT. 

anticipated  him,  and  were  hastily  bringing  a  long  ladder 
from  the  barn,  by  the  help  of  which  the  aspiring  young 
lady  was  brought  down  from  her  undesirable  altitude. 

Mrs.  Copperly,  when  she  had  ceased  to  be  anxious,  be- 
gan to  be  angry,  and  gave  the  subdued  and  trembling  little 
embodiment  of  pure  spiritual  essence,  a  severe  and  snarling 
rebuke. 

"  Our  friend  Psyche  must  wait  till  she  has  on  her  butter- 
fly wings,  before  she  makes  another  attempt  to  show  her 
independence  of  a  male  protector,"  said  the  clergyman,  a 
little  mischievously,  not  unwilling  to  give  the  soaring 
mother  a  sly  rebuke. 

The  babe  in  the  cradle  began  to  assert  his  right  to  a 
hearing,  and  Mrs.  Copperly  hid  her  face  and  her  indigna- 
tion at  the  same  time,  under  the  green  moreen  screen  of 
the  cradle-head,  and,  after  quieting  the  cries  of  the  child, 
left  the  room,  while  the  pastor  wheeled  round  his  chair  to 
the  corner  occupied  by  the  invalid  head  of  the  rebellious 
little  household,  and  entered  upon  a  low,  earnest  discourse 
with  him  on  subjects  relating  to  his  own  personal  wants, 
physical  and  spiritual.  He  found  Copperly  educated  for 
active  business  pursuits,  and  intelligent  on  all  ordinary  sub- 
jects of  general  interest,  with  no  classical  acquirements,  or 
cultivated  literary  tastes,  looking  with  a  sort  of  dull,  apa- 
thetic indifference  upon  life,  more  the  result  of  inability  to 
cope  with  the  cares  and  vexations,  and  consequent  weari- 
ness, of  this  world,  than  of  any  well-founded  and  reliable 
preparation  for  a  better. 

He  rather  wished  to  die,  for  he  was  weary,  and  he  longed 
for  rest.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  in  his  feelings. 
He  preferred  the  indolent  drowsiness  which  weakness  and 
opium  engendered.  It  was  too  much  trouble  to  think  and 


SBA.-SPRAY.  187 

examine ;  he  was  willing  to  glide,  almost  unconsciously, 
away  from  this  scene  of  sickness  and  sorrow.  Life  had  no 
charms,  death  no  terrors ;  and  of  a  life  to  come  he  had 
neither  hopes  nor  fears.  Please  let  him  go  in  peace  ;  it  was 
too  late  now  to  think  of  these  things.  Conscience  was 
easy ;  why  seek  to  goad  or  awaken  it  ?  He  was  weary 
and  worn  out,  let  him  die  and  be  at  rest. 

Such  was  the  summing  up  of  all  his  preparations  for  death. 
"  I  am  weary,  weary — let  me  rest." 

The  clergyman  was  sadly  disheartened  ;  but  he  found  re- 
monstrance was  useless.  His  only  answer  was,  "  I  am 
willing  to  die — why  do  you  wish  me  to  dread  what  I  anti- 
cipate as  a  relief  ?" 

So  he  turned  his  attention  to  his  physical  and  temporal 
necessities ;  and,  placing  in  his  hands  the  fund  entrusted 
to  him,  instructed  him  to  apply  for  any  further  assist- 
ance, assuring  him  it  should  be  promptly  rendered.  Cop- 
perly  thanked  him,  with  all  the  energy  which  the  extreme 
languor  and  lassitude  that  overpowered  him  would  ad- 
rait  ;  stating  that,  on  the  arrival  of  his  father,  whom  he 
daily  expected,  he  should  be  supplied  with  all  things 
needful ;  that  his  father  was  able  to  provide  for  him  and 
his  children,  but  that  the  reckless  improvidence  of  his  wife 
had  wearied  out  his  patience,  and  that  coming  to  Sea- 
spray  was  but  to  try  the  experiment  of  separating  her  from 
injurious  influences,  and.  getting  her  into  an  atmo?phere 
which  had  never  been  tainted  with  the  evil  that  had  so 
fatally  infected  her. 

"  You  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  place,  so  far  as  her 
malady  is  concerned.  Sea-spray  is  innocent  of  all  ultra- 
isms.  Indeed,  to  be  turned  out  of  the  "even  tenor  of  its 
way"  by  anything,  is  not  in  its  nature.  Enthusiasm,  in 


188  SEA-SPKAY. 

any  cause,  or  on  any  question,  is  not  one  of  its  character- 
istics. But  with  regard  to  your  own  health,  1  fear  it  was 
misjudged." 

There  was  now  an  uproar  in  the  back  apartments,  and 
Mrs.  Copperly  was  heard  in  angry  altercation  with  the 
self-relying  Miss  Psyche  ;  and  inflicting  currant-bush 
castigation,  for  contumacious  defiance  and  disregard  of 
authority,  in  visiting  sundry  demonstrative  arguments  in 
support  of  woman's  inherent  rights,  upon  that  roaring 
representation  of  masculine  usurpation,  Master  Godwin 
Copperly. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Copperly,  smiling  faintly,  and  blushing 
at  the  unladylike  boisterousness  of  his  termagent  wife — 
"I  believe  the  evil  will  work  its  own  cure.  The  child 
acts  well  out  the  principles  her  mother  has  instilled,  and  I 
think  she  will  be  astounded  at  the  rank  growth  of  the 
ill  weed  she  has  planted.  The  lesson  will  be  a  bitter 
one,  but  I  trust  she  will  learn  it  in  time  to  save  her 
child." 

Mr.  Alden  went  away,  with  his  mind  occupied  with 
painful  thoughts. 

The  family  he  had  left  furnished  a  sad  example  of  neg- 
lected duties.  The  father,  probably  a  moral,  well-meaning 
man,  of  feeble  intellect,  and  yielding,  indolent  temper, 
without  the  support  or  restraint  of  any  ennobling  or  puri- 
fying principles,  with  only  a  sort  of  accidental,  negative 
rectitude  of  conduct,  the  result  more  of  favoring  circum- 
stances than  of  governing  volition — not  the  actual  good 
done,  but  the  actual  evil  left  undone,  was  the  character  of 
his  claim.  Inoffensive  inefficiency, — absence  of  positive 
evil,  not  necessarily  involving  the  presence  of  positive 
good,  constituted  his  merit. 


SEA-SPRAY.  189 

"  Ah,"  thought  the  benevolent  clergyman,  as  he  walked 
on  his  way  home — "  Ah,  me  !  I  know  many  Copperlys, 
very  many,  passing  along  through  life,  perfectly  satisfied 
with  just  not  having  done  any  great  evil — barren  cum- 
berers  of  the  ground.  Ah,  well !  doubtless  the  Lord  has 
his  own  purposes  to  serve  through  them.  It  is  not  for  me 
to  judge." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TIME  glided  on  his  way,  bearing  no  startling  events 
on  his  wings.  Noiselessly  day  followed  day,  bringing 
brighter  verdure  and  deeper  shade ;  softer  sunshine,  balmier 
air,  heavier  foliage  on  the  trees,  and  sweeter  and  more  va- 
ried music  from  their  branches.  It  was  June,  the  month 
of  beauty  and  fragrance  above  all  others,  and  Sea-spray 
was  wearing  its  sweetest  and  most  becoming  attire.  It  was 
the  green  season  in  that  queen  of  green  villages — the  street 
was  wide,  and  one  unstained  level  of  soft  velvet  sod,  with 
its  unbroken  rows  of  flourishing  shade  trees,  in  their  first 
perfect  verdure,  ere  the  scorching  heats  had  seared,  or  the 
envious  blighting  fogs  had  mildewed  or  discolored  them. 
Roses  of  every  variety  clustered  around,  or  crept  luxuri- 
antly over  the  fronts  and  roofs  of  houses.  Honey-suckles 
and  matrimony,  and  ivy  and  flowering  creepers  of  endless 
varieties,  wound  around  pillars  and  over  porches ;  pinks 
blushed  in  their  sweetness,  and  lilies  of  the  valley  hung 
their  modest  heads,  and  breathed  forth  their  spicy  perfume 
from  the  shelter  of  their  broad,  green  leaves,  while  hearts- 
ease popped  up  his  pert  head  everywhere,  his  wide  open 
blue  eyes  staring  saucily  at  the  sun. 

"  Allen,"  said  Evelyn,  one  dull  cloudy  day,  as  they  were 


SEA-SPBAY.  191 

about  rising  from  the  dinner-table,  "  is  not  this  the  most 
favorable  weather  for  perching  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  is  :  they  take  the  bait  the  best  in  cloudy, 
dark  days,  or  after  the  sun  is  down." 

"  Well,  you  and  Ernest  have  had  the  promise  of  going 
to  the  brook  to  fish  for  perch — suppose  we  go  this  after- 
noon ?" 

Allen  was  ready  to  go,  and  Ernest  was  in  ecstacies. 
The  poles  and  hooks  were  soon  produced,  and  the  horse 
put  before  the  little  open  wagon  generally  used  on  such 
occasions  ;  with  a  basket  of  cakes  for  the  boys,  and  a  big 
receptacle  for  the  expected  perch,  they  set  off  in  high  glee. 
The  drive  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  the  boys  chatted  and 
laughed,  and  looked  out  for  all  manner  of  droll  things  on 
the  road,  seeing  birds-nests  on  the  trees  and  "  scare-crows" 
in  the  corn ;  and  if  not  preacher's  sermons  or  books,  in 
stones,  trees  and  streams,  they  saw  pleasure  every  where. 
The  varying  shades  of  green  on  the  forest  trees  attracted 
Ernest's  attention,  and,  from  contemplating  the  quiet  beau- 
ties of  the  sylvan  scenery  which  surrounded  them,  its  dark 
shadows  more  deeply  dark  for  the  sombre  sky  that  over- 
hung them,  his  thoughts  went  up  in  cheerful  gratitude  to 
the  hand  which  had  created  and  adorned  them. 

"Aint  it  strange,  papa,  that  men  can  be  wicked  in  such 
a  pleasant  world  as  God  has  given  them  ?  When  he  had 
made  it  so  bright,  so  full  of  sweet  flowers  and  green  grow- 
ing trees  and  shrubs,  with  the  pretty  birds  nesting  and 
singing  so  merrily  among  their  branches — I  wonder  some- 
times how  he  came  to  let  that  old  serpent  bring  sin  in  to 
poison  it  all.  Is  it  wicked  to  have  such  thoughts,  papa  ?" 

*'  It  is  not  a  very  strange  thought,  Ernest ;  and  if  it  is 
a  wicked  one,  you  are  not  the  first  to  whom  it  has  sug- 


192  SEA-SPRAT. 

gested  itself.  It  would  be  a  wicked  thought  if  it  ex- 
tended to  murmuring  and  repining  at  the  sovereignty  of 
our  Maker,  arraigning  the  justice  of  such  dispensations  as 
did  not  meet  our  feelings,  or  further  our  views,  and  cavil- 
ing against  the  right  of  the  Creator  to  do  as  seemeth  Him 
good  with  the  works  of  His  own  creation.  Your  thought, 
my  son,  was  but  the  feeling  of  regret  that  sin  existed  in 
this  world,  to  the  blotting  out  so  much  of  its  peaceful 
beauty.  I  have  no  particular  fault  to  find  with  it  if  you 
let  it  stop  there." 

Evelyn  pondered  the  words  of  the  boy,  as  they  rode  on, 
in  silence,  thinking  of  the  deep  responsibility  resting  on 
those  to  whom  is  intrusted  the  teaching  of  an  immortal 
soul ;  and  asking  tremblingly  of  his  own  heart,  how  he 
should  discharge  his  trust,  that  when  called  to  render  an 
account  of  his  stewardship,  he  might  dare  to  say,  unfalter- 
ingly, '*  Behold,  I  and  the  children  which  God  hath  given 
me."  Well  might  he  question  of  himself  his  capacity  for 
performing  a  duty  so  delicate,  and  yet  so  fearfully  impor- 
tant in  its  results.  There  is  such  a  sanctity  about  the  first 
bright  dawnings  of  intellect,  in  the  uncontaminated  spirit  of 
childhood,  in  the  freshness  and  fervor  of  its  feelings,  in  its 
implicit  and  confiding  faith,  in  the  simple  breathings  of  its 
unstudied  thoughts  and  innocent  emotions  ;  woe,  woe  unto 
those  who  shall  pervert  or  lead  it  astray,  stealing  upon  its 
unguarded  guilelessness  to  seduce  it  to  error  and  sin.  The 
heart  of  the  child  is  so  easily  won  by  specious  semblances, 
when  the  plausible  blandishments  of  sin  are  cast  artfully 
around  him,  and  its  baseless,  and  fleeting  and  hollow  mock- 
eries beguile  him  ;  the  vagaries  of  fancy,  the  hollow  and 
deceptive  seemings  of  life,  are  grasped  as  substantial  realities, 
and  the  perishing  and  gilded  creatures  of  earth  are  estima- 


SEA-SPRAY.  193 

ted  as  they  charm  the  eye,  ere  the  reason  has  been  con- 
vinced of  their  nothingness,  or  the  young  and  unsophistica- 
ted spirit  has  tasted  and  turned  from  their  heartlessness.  Yet 
have  we  not  often  seen  the  beautiful  and  bright,  the  excel- 
lent*in  attainments,  the  irreproachable  in  conduct,  the  pure 
in  purpose,  and  the  proud  in  spirit,  go  forth,  trusting  in  the 
sanctity  of  an  uncontaminated  heart,  to  meet  the  tempta- 
tions and  the  trials  of  a  busy  and  debasing  world  ?  And 
have  we  not  seen  the  spotless'  defiled  by  its  associations? 
— the  pride  of  intellect,  the  energy  of  enobling  ambition, 
the  lofty  aspirations  of  genius,  the  ardent,  anxious  emula- 
tion of  attaining  eminence  in  honest  and  honorable  pursuit, 
all,  all  sacrificed  to  degrading  sensual  indulgences  ? — the 
whole  "  original  brightness  "  of  character  tarnished,  the 
blossoms  of  early  promise  blighted,  and  the  hope  of  eternal 
glory  extinguished  forever,  giving  terrible  confirmation  of 
the  verity  of  the  Scripture  declaration,  "  He  who  trusteth 
in  his  own  heart  is  a  fool  ?" 

Well  indeed  might  Evelyn  tremble,  as  he  thought  of 
exposing  Ernest  to  the  countless  dangers  and  sins  which 
awaited  him  in  his  intercourse  with  the  world,  in  which  he 
was  to  "  live,  and  move,  and  have  a  being." 

He  was  recalled  from  his  wanderings  among  the  antici- 
pated rocks  and  shoals,  which  were  lying  thick  before  his 
mind's  eye,  along  the  stream  of  Ernest's  future,  by  a  won- 
dering exclamation  from  the  boy  : 

"  Oh,  look,  Allen,  look!  what  funny  great  birds;  how 
they  wheel  round  and  round,  circling  higher  and  higher." 

Allen  looked,  and  explained.  It  was  an  eagle,  soaring 
in  steady  gyrations,  sweeping  round  and  up,  round  and  up, 
higher  and  still  higher,  to  come  down  with  more  effective 
pounce  upon  a  fish-hawk,  which  was  winging  his  flight  home- 


194  SEA-SPBAT. 

ward  with  a  fish  that  he  had  just  lifted  from  the  bay. 
Ernest  was  greatly  interested  in  a  sight  so  new,  and  his 
questions  came  eagerly  and  fast. 

"  Why  don't  the  eagle  go  straight  up,  and  not  go  round 
in  such  a  circle  ?" 

"  Eagles  can't  soar  like  hawks.  They  wheel  and  circle, 
and  go  up  spirally  on  a  broad  sweep  ;  but  hawks  flap  right 
up.  They  get  higher  than  the  eagle  at  first,  but  he  can 
outsoar  them  at  last,  and  tire  them  out,  especially  when 
they  are  burdened  with  a  big  fish." 

Evelyn  checked  the  horse,  and  stopped,  that  the  boys 
might  watch  the  battle.  It  was  skilfully  fought ;  but  might 
conquered  right,  and  the  hawk  dropped  the  fish,  which  the 
eagle  captured  as  it  fell,  and  made  for  his  eyrie,  while  the 
hawk  wheeled  back  to  the  bay. 

"  See,"  said  Ernest,  "  how  the  poor  robbed"  hawk  has 
gone  off  to  the  bay,  looking  just  as  if  he  would  say, '  there's 
enough  more  where  that  came  from,  and  I  can  get  them, 
king  eagle,  but  you  can't.' " 

"  Does  it  not  teach  you  a  lesson,  boys  ?"  said  Evelyn, 
putting  the  horse  again  in  motion :  "  perseverance  under 
discouraging  circumstances,  and  faith  under  losses,  that  if 
you  bravely  put  forth  your  own  energies,  they  can  be  re- 
trieved ?" 

As  they  rode  on,  Allen  entertained  Ernest,  whose  sym- 
pathy for  the  despoiled  hawk  was  strongly  excited,  with 
anecdotes  of  the  habits  and  peculiarities  of  the  bird  in 
question. 

"  I  don't  know  how  they  behave  in  other  places,  but 
Sea^spray  fish-hawks  are  as  punctual  as  the  sun.  They 
never  fail  to  make  their  appearance  the  20th  of  March,  or 
to  take  their  departure  the  20th  of  September.  They  are 


SEA-SPRAY.  195 

never  known  to  vary  one  day.  If  the  Spring  has  been  a 
mild  and  pleasant  one,  they  arrive  in  the  early  part  of  the 
day  ;  if  it  has  been  cold  and  backward,  they  will  not  get 
along  till  towards  night,  but  that  is  the  greatest  variation 
in  time  they  are  ever  known  to  make." 

"  Are  they  as  regular  about  leaving,  and  do  they  go  in 
the  early  part  of  the  day  ?"  asked  Ernest,  rather  incredu- 
lously. 

"  They  are  just  as  punctual  about  leaving.  When  they 
arrive  in  the  Spring,  they  come  in  detached,  straggling 
companies  from  the  south  and  west ;  but  when  they  leave, 
they  gather  in  immense  flocks,  and  soar  straight  up,  going 
higher  and  higher,  till  they  are  lost  to  sight,  and  nobody 
ever  knows  which  way  they  direct  their  flight.  You  look 
as  if  you  did  not  believe  this.  I  do,  because  1  have  been 
told  it  by  old  men,  who  are  curious  on  all  such  matters, 
and  who  have  watched  and  observed  for  fifty  years,  and 
never  knew  it  to  be  otherwise,  besides  having  it  on  the 
authority  of  their  fathers  and  grandfathers.  I  hope  you 
don't  suppose  that  a  Sea-spray  fish-hawk  would  do  any- 
thing that  his  forefathers  did  not  do  ?"  said  Allen,  laughing. 

"  Of  course  not,  after  all  you  have  told  me  of  their  love 
of  regularity  ;  but  who  do  you  think  makes  the  almanacs 
for  the  hawks  ?"  asked  Ernest. 

Allen  could  not  tell,  and  they  agreed  to  ask  Robert 
Henshaw  his  opinion  on  the  subject,  which,  for  the  present, 
they  ceased  to  discuss.  A  few  moments  more  brought 
them  to  the  perching  spot.  The  horse  was  carefully 
tethered  to  a  tree  near  the  bars  through  which  they  passed 
from  the  highway.  The  rods  were  quickly  jointed,  and 
lines  and  hooks  adjusted,  and  the  little  party  began  to 
stroll  along  the  marshy  margin  of  the  brook,  seeking  for 


196  SEA-SPKAY. 

pleasant  stands,  and  carelessly  dropping  their  hooks  in  the 
little  stream  as  they  sauntered  along.  A  shout  from 
Ernest  announced  a  bite,  and  the  little  flouncing  captive 
was  lifted  from  the  brook.  It  was  an  era  in  Ernest's  his- 
tory. He  had  caught  his  first  fish  !  So  he  stooped  over 
the  little  shining  prize,  patting  it  tenderly  as  it  lay  gasping 
on  the  wet  grass  of  the  meadow,  and  turning  away  his 
eyes  as  Allen  extricated  the  hook  from  the  lacerated  little 
mouth.  But,  like  all  keen  sportsmen,  Ernest  soon  forgot 
the  feeling  of  sympathy  in  the  flush  of  success.  Taking 
them  from  the  hook  with  his  own  hands,  he  left  Allen  at 
liberty  to  pursue  his  own  sport  "  on  his  own  hook." 

Evelyn  looked  on  sometime  in  enjoyment  of  Ernest's 
delight,  till,  finding  that  he  could  manage  expertly  for  him- 
self, he  began  to  feel  an  inclination  to  play  the  fool  at  the 
fool's  end  of  his  own  rod ;  so  he  sauntered  along  the  brook, 
leaving  the  boys  together.  It  was  busy  times,  for  the  fish 
seemed  determined  not  to  learn  wisdom  from  their  neigh- 
bor's experience,  but  each  to  try  a  bite  for  himself. 

It  grew  unseasonably  dark,  and  Allen  heard  uneasily 
the  low  muttering  of  the  thunder.  But  Evelyn  did  not 
observe  it ;  he  was  absorbed  with  his  hook  and  pole,  land- 
ing a  constant  succession  of  very  fine  fish.  Allen  felt 
averse  to  hastening  him,  but  he  was  a  careful  noter  of 
signs  in  the  heavens,  and  he  knew  they  were  in  danger  of 
a  wetting,  so  he  drew  near  to  Ernest,  and  made  known  his 
apprehensions  to  him.  A  heavier  roll  and  nearer,  broke 
loudly,  as  he  came  to  summon  his  father.  Evelyn  turned 
at  his  call,  and  scanned  with  an  anxious  glance  the  great 
black  masses  of  clouds  gathering  in  all  points  of  the  hori- 
zon. He  hastily  collected  up  his  tackle,  and  prepared  to 
hurry  home.  The  perch  were  placed  in  the  basket  of 
grass,  the  poles  disjointed,  and  packed  without  delay. 


SEA-SP11AY.  197 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  give  me  warning  sooner, 
my  boys  ;  I  might  have  saved  you  a  wet  jacket,  but 
perhaps  we  can  run  away  from  it  yet.  What  do  you  think, 
Allen?"  asked  Evelyn. 

"  There  is  no  wind,"  replied  Allen.  "  If  there  was  only 
that  black  fellow  behind  us,  we  might ;  but  the  clouds 
are  heaving  up,  and  the  thunder  rolls  in  all  directions. 
We  may  run  from  one,  only  to  run  into  another." 

Evelyn  looked  up  undecidedly  at  the  heavens,  and  then 
at  his  watch.  "  We  might  go  to  the  farm-house  yonder 
and  wait,  but  it  is  evening  now  ;  it  would  make  it  late; 
it  will  be  very  dark,  and  they  will  be  anxious  at  home.  I 
will  leave  it  to  you,  boys ;  say,  Ernest." 

Ernest  had  an  unconquerable  dread  of  thunder ;  he  would 
have  preferred  any  shelter  to  being  exposed,  but  he  thought 
of  another. 

"  Mother  will  be  so  frightened.     I  say,  go." 
"  Come,  Allen,  your  vote." 
"  Stick  her  through,  as  the  sailors  say." 
"  Well,  jump  in,  then,  and  get  seated,  while  I  untie 
Pony." 

Pony  was  snorting,  and  tossing  up  his  head,  and  looking 
shyly  over  his  shoulder  at  the  cloud,  straining  impatiently 
the  while  upon  the  halter,  tied  in  a  strong  knot  around  the 
tree. 

Evelyn  sprung  into  the  wagon,  saying  as  he  seated  him- 
self, "  Come,  Pone,  we  depend  upon  you  to  get  us  out  of 
this  scrape,  so  I  shall  put  you  upon  your  mettle,  for  once." 
"  Pone  don't  mind  a  good  run ;  he  knows  what's  brew- 
ing as  well  as  any  of  us,  and  he  snorts  at  thunder.  Give 
him  a  slack  rein,  and  he'll  spring  for  his  stable  freely.  A 
free  rein,  but  not  a  careless  one,  Mr.  Evelyn — he'll  bolt  at 
the  lightning." 


1 98  SEA-SPRAT. 

The  thunder  cracked  unpleasantly  near  his  ears  ;  and 
Pone  bounded  forward,  pricking  up  his  ears,  and  snorting, 
and  tossing  up  his  head ;  but  he  held  on  his  way,  every 
flash  and  peal  adding  speed  to  his  feet. 

"  I  don't  know,  Pony,  about  dashing  on  at  this  rate  ;  it 
is  pitchy  dark,  and  I  know  nothing  of  the  road." 

"  Keep  an  even  rein,"  said  Allen,  "and  he'll  keep  the  road. 
If  he  bolts  now,  he'll  turn  us  over." 

The  storm  was  terrific.  The  wind  began  to  blow  with 
fury,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  sheets.  Ernest  and  Allen 
cowered  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  and  hid  their  eyes 
from  the  blinding  glare  in  the  straw ;  while  Evelyn  strained 
upon  the  reins,  in  fruitless  endeavors  to  check  the  speed  of 
the  galloping  and  frightened  horse ;  but  the  faithful  animal 
carried  them  safe,  never  pausing  or  slackening  in  his  flying 
course,  till  he  had  passed  through  the  gates,  set  open  to 
save  delay,  and  stood  panting  and  trembling  at  the  door  of 
his  stable.  Lights  were  glancing  at  the  windows,  and  a 
fire  burning  cheerily  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  while  tea 
awaited  the  return  of  the  drenched  and  exhausted 
fishermen. 

Ernest  was  helped  in,  fainting  with  terror ;  and  Evelyn 
and  Allen,  both  pale  with  anxiety,  agitation,  and  exertion. 
But  they  were  soon  relieved  of  their  dripping  garments, 
and,  warmed  and  refreshed,  were  ready  to  relate  all  that 
had  happened  on  their  expedition. 

"  I  wonder,  Walter,  that  you  should  drive  home  in  such 
a  pouring  rain.  Why  did  not  you  stop  at  the  first  house 
you  came  to  ?"  asked  Ada. 

"  Stopping  was  a  thing  more  easily  prescribed  than  exe- 
cuted," said  Evelyn.  "  It  was  the  only  circumstance 
about  which  I  had  my  fears  excited,  jglfdid  apprehend  be- 


SEA-SPRAY.  199 

ing  dashed  against  some  obstruction,  or  having  our  necks 
broken  by  an  overturn  in  some  gully  ;  for  if  I  could  have 
restrained  the  horse,  I  could  not  have  seen  where  to  guide 
him." 

"  Well,  papa,  you  put  him  upon  his  mettle,  and  told  him 
expressly  that  you  depended  upon  him  to  get  us  out  of  the 
scrape.  I  think  poor  Pone  did  his  part  nobly." 

"  He  did,"  said  Allen,  "  and  he  shall  have  all  the  cake 
we  brought  back  for  his  breakfast." 

"  Cake  ?"  said  Ernest :  "  cake  for  a  horse  !  Who  ever 
saw  a  horse  eat  cake  ?" 

"  Pone  eats  cake,  and  sweetmeats,  and  bread  and  butter, 
and  is  particularly  partial  to  loaf  sugar.  You  shall  see 
him  come  to  the  table  in  the  morning,  and  ask,  as  plain  as 
he  can  ask,  for  his  cooked  breakfast." 

"  Call  me  early,  then ;  for  it  will  be  a  sight  to  justify 
early  rising — a  horse  eating  loaf  sugar  !"  said  Ernest,  with 
a  look  of  incredulity. 

The  thunder  squall  was  over,  and  the  family  scattered 
over  the  house,  as  [suited  their  several  whims,  leaving  the 
chilled  and  wearied  fishermen  chatting  in  the  comfortable 
warmth  thrown  over  the  hearth  from  a  glowing  bed  of 
coals. 

"  I  think,"  said  Allen,  "  bay  fishing  would  suit  Ernest  best ; 
he  would  not  have  to  stand  on  the  wet  meadow,  and  it 
would  not  be  so  tiresome  for  him,  sitting  in  the  boat.  He 
could  take  pleasant  weather,  and  not  be  out  in  the  evening 
damps." 

"  Ah,"  said  Evelyn,  "  that's  not  a  bad  idea ;  we  will  act 
upon  it  the  first  pleasant  day  after  we  get  over  this  wet 
frolic.  Where  do  you  go  ?" 

"  Anywhere  on  the  north  shore,  where  we  can  get  a 


200  SEA-SPRAY. 

boat.  Most  of  the  substantial  farmers  along  the  bayside 
keep  fine  boats;  they  are  expert  boatmen,  and  will  take 
parties  off  to  the  porgy-ground  any  time.  It  is  real  good 
fun." 

"  But  will  you  be  sure  to  find  men  ready  to  take  you  off? 
It  would  be  bad  to  go  so  far  for  nothing." 

"  I  believe  people  wishing  to  go  out,  send  down  the  day 
before,  and  make  arrangements  so  as  to  be  sure,"  replied 
Allen. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  nice.     Shall  we  go  soon,  papa  ?" 

"  Any  time,  after  we  see  how  we  stand  this  ?" 

Ernest  and  Allen  soon  retired  to  sleep  off  their  fatigue  ; 
and  Evelyn  took  up  the  evening  papers. 

The  morning  broke  serene  and  cloudless  over  Sea-spray, 
looking  her  greenest,  and  freshest,  and  brightest,  after  the 
rain.  Dury  had  cooked  the  perch  to  the  most  critical  pos- 
sible perfection  of  brown  and  crispy  deliciousness ;  and 
they  were  eaten  and  extolled,  much  to  the  delight  of  the 
young  anglers,  who  picked  out  their  bones  with  the  air  of 
experienced  fish-eating  [epicures,  in  serious,  appreciating 
gusto. 

"  Come,  Allen,"  said  Ernest,  when  he  had  finished  his 
breakfast,  "  now  I  claim  your  promise  of  seeing  Pone  eat 
sugar." 

The  stable-door  opened,  and  Pone,  availing  himself  of  the 
opportunity  to  kick  up  his  heels  and  take  a  refreshing  roll 
on  the  cool,  soft  turf,  Allen  pushed  up  the  window,  and 
drawing  up  the  table  by  the  side  of  it,  set  his  breakfast  of 
cake,  and  bread  and  butter,  and  pie,  with  the  promised 
lump  of  sugar,  ready  for  his  pet,  the  old  horse ;  then,  stri- 
king withliis  knife  on  a  plate,  Pone  came  instantly  trotting 
to  the  window,  and  stretched  his  long  neck  in  towards 


SEA-SPRAY.  201 

the  table,  placed  just  beyond  his  reacn,  with  a  soft,  plead- 
ing whinny.  One  after  another,  the  desired  morsels  were 
handed  to  him,  greatly  to  Ernest's  delight,  who  laughed  and 
clapped  his  hands,  to  see  the  grateful  pony  draw  up  the 
lip  from  his  upper  teeth  in  smiling  acknowledgment. 

"  Does  he  really  try  to  laugh,  do  you  think  ?"  asked  Ernest. 

"  I  can't  say  I  think  he  tried  very  hard,  but  I  know  he 
can  laugh  if  any  horse  can." 

So  Allen  having  redeemed  his  pledge,  ran  off  to  school, 
and  Ernest  amused  himself  awhile,  and  went  to  his  father 
to  attend  to  such  lessons  as  he  should  direct.  But  Ernest 
could  not  study  ;  he  was  languid  and  limb-sore,  and  feve- 
rish, and  before  night  he  was  laid  on  his  bed  decidedly 
sick.  Evelyn  and  Ada  hung  over  him  with  unceasing 
tenderness  and  watchful  care  :  kindness  and  skill  stood  by 
him,  and  experience  ministered  unto  him.  But  day  came 
without  relief,  and  one  night  followed  another,  and  Ernest 
was  still  tossing  on  his  bed,  talking  in  the  delirium  of  fever, 
of  thunder  and  lightning  and  rain,  of  storm  and  shipwreck 
and  darkness,  and  whelming  billows  ;  of  Edith  and  De  Ko- 
ven,  and  wringing  his  father's  heart  with  holding  up  his 
burning  little  fingers,  and  holding  communication  with 
Edith  in  the  fashion  of  other  days;  and  there  was  watch- 
ing with  weeping,  and  agony  and  prayers  over  Ernest,  and 
then  came  faint  gleamings  of  hope  at  times,  only  to  make 
the  heart-sinkings  of  discouragement  more  keenly  anguish- 
ing :  then  in  the  excruciating  alternatives  hope  began  to 
gain  the  ascendency,  and  light  to  beam  more  brightly  from 
the  overhanging  darkness ;  and  so  the  long,  dismal  days, 
and  the  long,  long  dreary  nights  dragged  away,  and  the 
eyes  were  dim  with  weeping,  and  the  hearts  were  faint 
with  fear  that  watched  and  never  wearied  by  the  uncon- 

9 


202  SEA  SPRAY. 

scious  sufferer ;  and  then  they  began  to  say,  hesitatingly 
and  doubtfully,  "  he  is  better,"  and  he  was  better,  and  he 
began  to  be  less  wandering,  and  to  be  stiller,  and  then  to 
rest  and  sleep,  and  to  wake  refreshed  and  calm  from  quiet 
slumbers,  and  to  wear  the  old  look  of  loving  consciousness 
and  tenderness  and  trust.  And  the  tears  were  stayed,  and 
the  heavy  hearts  were  lifted  up.  Then  came  in  its  full 
blessedness  the  gushing  joy  of  relief  in  the  certain  safety 
and  convalescence.  Let  those  thank  God  whose  experi- 
ence has  not  been  to  taste  the  heart-withering  agony  of 
the  bitter  reverse ;  who  have  not  watched  and  watched, 
and  wept  and  prayed,  only  to  see  hope  growing  hour  by 
hour  more  dim,  till  its  last  faintest  beam  died  out. 

Soon  Ernest  was  rapidly  getting  better ;  and  then  he  could 
sit  up  in  his  chair,  and  hold  cheerful  talk  with  Allen  about 
the  boat  fishing,  and  then  he  was  carried  down  stairs,  and 
took  his  seat  again  at  the  table.  But  the  color  did  not  come 
again  to  Ernest's  cheek,  nor  the  roundness  nor  the  strength 
to  his  limbs.  His  heart  fluttered  and  his  breath  came 
thick  and  panting,  if  he  tried  to  play  or  take  light  exercise, 
and  the  little  creeping  chill  came  over  him,  and  the  faint 
insidious  flush  followed  it,  and  practised  eyes  saw  that  the 
canker  was  in  the  heart  of  the  bud,  and  that  it  would 
drop  ere  long  from  the  stem,  without  ever  expanding  its 
leaves  or  perfecting  its  bloom.  But  gradually  Ernest 
gained  a  little  strength,  and  Ada  believed  he  would  soon 
be  well ;  and  Evelyn,  conscious  that  he  was  building  up 
and  leaning  upon  a  hope  which  had  no  foundation,  still 
ventured  to  take  courage,  for  Ernest  did  not  know  that  he 
was  sick,  nor  yet  suspect  the  malady  that  was  consuming 
him.  He  was  "  tired ;  so  tired :  if  he  could  only  once  get 
rested."  But  still  he  did  not  mend.  He  walked  about  the 


SEA-SPBAY.  203 

house,  and  he  went  out  of  doors,  and  Allen  built  him  a 
pretty  seat  under  the  great  willow  tree,  where  he  could  sit 
in  the  shade  when  the  earth  was  dry,  and  the  sun  was 
light  and  clear,  and  watch  the  school-boys  at  their  play, 
and  listen  to  the  song  of  the  birds  as  they  swung  on  the 
long  swaying  branches  above  him,  and  feed  the  little  gentle 
things  that  came  hopping  fearlessly  about  him,  and  then 
he  could  ride  out ;  and  he  began  to  talk  about  that  pleasant 
fishing  off  in  the  bay.  So  a  grand  family  council  was  con- 
vened, and  it  was  decided  that  it  would  not  hurt  Ernest  if 
they  took  a  fine  day. 

Evelyn  and  Allen  took  Pony  and  the  rattling  little  wagon, 
and  drove  down  to  the  north  shore  ;  and  Mr.  Austin,  who 
had  a  fine  large  boat  and  was  a  skilful  boatman,  agreed  to 
take  them  out  "  any  fine  day."  Ernest  hoped  to-morrow 
would  be  pleasant,  and  he  went  to  bed  early  that  he  might 
get  "  well  rested,"  while  his  father  and  Allen  made  ready 
the  hooks  and  lines,  and  Mr.  Osgood  engaged  to  carry  them 
in  his  nice  ''  Rockaway,"  so  there  was  no  fear  of  another 
wetting.  To-morrow  came  :  the  day  was  as  lovely  a  day  as 
heart  could  wish  ;  the  nice  covered  carriage  swung  like  a 
cradle,  and  everything  was  pleasant,  and  promising,  and 
bright.  Dury's  careful  hands  had  packed  the  great  basket 
of  luncheon  with  every  thing  that  could  tempt  the  appe- 
tite first,  and  appease  it  afterwards;  and  they  set  off 
smiling  and  happy. 

Ada  looked  after  them,  and  almost  regretted  that  she 
had  not  made  one  of  the  party.  But  she  was  growing 
more  nd  more  averse  to  going  out  or  seeing  any  one.  If 
she  came  down  to  sit  with  the  family  awhile,  she  would 
open  the  door  stealthily  and  look  cautiously  in,  startingf 
listening  and  panting,  if  a  door  opened  suddenly,  or  a  step 


204  SEA-SPRAY. 

was  heard  approaching  the  house.  Her  health  was  break- 
ing down.  Her  face,  except  when  the  unhealthy  flush  of 
excitement,  or  suddenly  startled  emotion  was  on  it,  wore 
the  pallor  and  coldness  of  marble  ;  her  figure  was  frail,  and 
her  step  swerving  and  unsteady.  Withal,  there  was  no  dis- 
guising the  fact,  that  the  root  of  the  evil,  whatever  it  was, 
had  struck  deep  in  the  mind,  and  Evelyn  had  held  long 
conversations  and  consultations  with  Dr.  Hesselten  on  her 
case.  He  knew  that  mental  disquietude  was  wearing  out 
her  life ;  that  some  hidden  care  was  preying  on  her  spirits 
and  perverting  and  vexing  her  temper,  but  neither  knew 
nor  suspected  other  cause  than  sorrow  for  Edith  and  ap- 
prehension for  Ernest.  Ada  had  now  a  fresh  subject  to 
annoy  her  :  she  had  learned  that  Sea-spray  was  a  place  of 
summer  resort,  and  she  was  dreading  and  lamenting  the 
probable  influx  of  visitors. 

"  You  will  not  be  disturbed  by  them,"  said  Alice.  "  You 
can  be  as  utterly  secluded  as  if  you  were  in  a  nunnery." 

"  But  your  house  will  be  full  of  company.  You  will 
have  many  acquaintances  among  the  people  who  come  to 
Sea- spray." 

"You  need  not  distress  yourself  about  that,  I  can  assure 
you,"  replied  Alice,  laughing.  "  Seeing  company  is  not  one 
of  our  afflictions.  Our  house  has  no  attractions,  and  we 
are  too  fond  of  our  ease,  and  too  lazy,  to  trouble  our- 
selves with  making  new  acquaintances,  or  hardly  with 
being  decently  civil  to  old  ones." 

"  But  you  have  friends  and  relatives,  of  course,  whom 
you  will  wish  to  see.  Oh,  it  is  very  trying  to  feel  myself 
such  a  restraint  and  burden  upon  you,"  said  Ada,  with  an 
impatient  tone. 

"  You  are  fretting  yourself  without  a  cause,"  said  Alice, 


SEA-SPRAY.  205 

kindly.  "  We  neither  make  nor  receive  visits.  We  are 
entirely  unknowing  and  unknown,  and  have  neither  time 
nor  taste  for  interchanging  troublesome  civilities.  If  all 
the  world  came  to  Sea-spray,  it  would  disturb  no  one  but 
those  who  entertain  them  for  pay.  They  come  here  to 
escape  formality  and  the  restraints  of  fashionable  social 
intercourse.  All  they  want  is,  fresh  air,  fresh  butter  and 
eggs,  clean  quarters,  good  tables,  and  sea  room  ;  to  lie 
unmolested  on  the  grass,  to  sit  under  the  trees,  to  stroll 
along  the  walks,  keep  cool,  and  care  for  nobody.  For  all 
that,  they  have  free  license,  or  pay  for  the  privilege.  But 
you  need  not  fear  any  intrusion.  If  you  please,  you  can 
have  your  meals  served  in  your  room.  You  need  not  see 
even  our  own  family,  if  it  is  not  agreeable." 

"  But  it  is  agreeable  ;  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  sit 
down  and  talk  quietly  with  you,"  said  Ada,  bursting  into 
tears,  and  wringing  her  hands.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  tell  you 
how  wretched,  and  almost  distracted  I  am  sometimes. 
How  I  long  to  tell  all  my  deep,  deep  misery  to  you,  and  ask 
you  to  pity  and  pray  for  me.  If  I  could  throw  off  this  load, 
and  breathe  freely,  and  look  my  fellow-creatures  in  the 
face.  Oh,  Alice,  I  am  a  sinning,  miserable,  broken-hearted 
woman!"  Ada  paced  the  room,  and  looked  the  miserable 
creature  she  said  she  was. 

"  I  cannot  see  anything  in  your  circumstances  to  cause 
such  utter  misery,  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  replied  Alice.  "Is  there 
anything  that  kindness  can  alleviate,  or  sympathy  soften  ? 
If  there  is,  I  am  certain  that  your  husband  would  search 
the  world  for  a  remedy.  You  ought  not  to  have  any  cause 
of  sorrow  that  you  cannot  confide  to  him.  How  can  you 
have  ?" 

Ada  turned  away  without  a  word.     She  turned  and 


206  SEA-SPRAY. 

came  back,  and  stood  looking  Alice  wistfully  in  the  face. 
She  hesitated,  then  saying  hastily : 

"  I  am  weak,  and  fidgety,  and  foolish.  I  say  a  great 
deal  more  than  I  mean  sometimes."  She  left  the  room. 

Dury,  who  had  been  occupied  about  the  room,  dusting 
and  cleaning,  had  heard  and  considered  Ada's  language. 

"  Wha's  Miss  Ally  think  ails  that  woman  ?"  asked 
Dury. 

"  I  don't  know,  Dury.  She  is  evidently  very  unhappy. 
Is  she  insane,  or  only,  as  she  says,  fidgety  and  unreasona- 
ble ?" 

"  Got  thorn  in  conscience,  Miss  Ally." 

"  Why,  Dury  !  what  put  that  thought  into  your  head  ?" 

"  Cause,  Miss  Ally,  poor  Dury's  know'd  afore  now,  how 
it  felt  to  have  cold  stone  lyin'  on  her  heart." 

Alice  shuddered  at  Dury's  words.  It  was  the  first  allu- 
sion the  subdued  and  silent  creature  had  ever  made  to  cer- 
tain long  past  transactions,  when  she  had  been  strongly 
suspected  of  having  had  fearful  agency  in  a  dark  and 
terrible  tragedy  enacted  in  the  solemn  shadow  and  solitude 
of  old  "  Hether  woods."  No  further  comment  was  made  ; 
but  thoughts  were  awakened  that  would  not  sleep,  and  feel- 
ings of  deeper  interest  clung  round  Ada.  Curiosity  was 
excited.  Deep  commiseration,  mingled  with  a  painful 
feeling  of  self-reproach  for  the  harboring  of  cruel  and  un- 
just misgivings  and  suspicions,  and  an  anxious  solicitude  to 
alleviate  the  distress  and  cheer  the  melancholy  of  her  way- 
ward and  interesting  guest,  occupied  the  thoughts  of  Alice 
the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  the  return  of  the  fishing 
party  was  a  pleasant  diversion  from  rather  unpleasant 
reflections. 

"  Oh,  mother,  we  have  had  a  delightful  time ;  and  I  am 


SEA-SPRAY.  207 

not  at  all  tired,  and  we  have  got  lots  of  fish,  and  the  ride 
was  so  nice." 

Ernest  was  full  of  glee  and  chat,  and,  as  he  said,  not  very 
tired  ;  and  Evelyn  and  Allen  agreed  that  they  had  spent 
the  day  pleasantly;  and  Ada  looked  at  the  trophies  of 
the  day's  work  which  filled  the  basket,  and  admired  the 
fish,  and  was  as  much  interested  as  she  ever  was  in  any- 
thing, and  the  day  had  passed  away,  thus  far,  satisfac- 
torily. 

It  was  the  gay  season  in  Sea-spray.  Stages  came  in  full 
of  men,  women  and  children,  with  dogs  on  the  boot ;  and 
baskets  and  carpet-bags,  and  willow  cradles,  and  basket- 
wagons,  and  hobby-horses  on  the  top ;  and  great  russet 
leather  trunks,  with  iron  clamps  and  staring  initials  on  the 
ends  ;  and  black  boxes  with  great  white  letters,  and  little 
valises,  and  bloated  patent  leather  bags,  piled  on  the  rack. 
Fresh  importations  of  nurses,  with  bevies  of  children  of 
every  conceivable  age  and  size,  strolled  on  the  walks  or 
bivouacked  under  the  trees.  Ladies,  in  sacks  of  all  shades 
and  dimensions,  with  sun-bonnets  and  Bloomer  hats,  and 
no  hats  at  all,  lounged  in  the  street,  sometimes  in  easy 
morning  neglige,  sometimes  in  grotesque  bathing  dresses, 
and  sometimes  in  full  promenade  dress,  or  fancy  evening 
attire.  Bare  heads  and  bare  arms  flitted  along  in  the  twi- 
light— music  and  laughter,  and  ringing  happy  voices  sounded 
in  the  moonlight ;  and  quiet,  secluded,  pretty  little  Sea- 
spray  was  fairly  turned  out  of  doors. 

Day  after  day  came  the  changing  throngs  :  guns,  fishing- 
rods,  dogs  and  their  masters,  with  sporting  jackets  and 
loaferish  old  brown  hats,  affectedly  knocked  into  all  sorts 
of  unseemly  shapes.  Little  chubby-cheek,  brisk-looking 
men  in  glossy  good  clothes  ;  slim,  dapper  little  men  in  tight 


208  SEA-SPRAY. 

buff  pants  and  patent  leathers  ;  fine,  erect,  portly  looking 
men  with  umbrellas ;  and  slim,  willowy  looking  men  with 
walking-sticks  ;  and  solemn,  dignified,  clerical  looking  men 
with  white  cravats  and  gold-headed  canes;  and  keen, 
knowing  looking  men  in  black  Leghorns  and  green  glasses  ; 
and  long,  lank,  lathey,  galvanized  looking  men  in  soiled, 
dusty  habiliments,  the  tops  of  their  long  rusty  boots  chasing 
the  bottoms  of  their  nether  integuments  out  of  their  legiti- 
mate quarters,  strolled  about  Sea-spray,  gazing  dreamily 
up  at  the  letters  cut  in  the  vane  on  the  old  church  steeple, 
and  sauntering  in  front  of  dwellings,  looking  in  at  the 
windows  and  over  the  garden  fences.  Farm  wagons 
lumbered  along,  with  their  close-packed  loads  of  living 
humanity,  with  great  bags  of  bathing  dresses,  and  pails 
swinging  under  side.  Little  pleasure  wagons,  with  meagre 
looking  horses  ;  varnished  Rockaways,  with  great  powerful 
horses ;  small  lumber  wagons,  with  little  active  horses, 
fatted  and  pampered  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  company 
season ;  anything  and  everything  on  wheels  was  impressed 
into  the  service,  and  every  quadruped  that  could  be  carded 
and  coaxed  into  the  semblance  of  a  horse,  was  harnessed 
to  it,  to  take  bathers,  and  swimmers,  and  fishers,  wherever 
they  chose  to  be  carried. 

-Side-saddles  were  looked  up,  and  pacing  horses  led  out 
for  ladies  to  mount,  and  there  was  hurrying  and  skurrying 
all  over  Sea-spray  in  search  of  weapons  to  kill  time. 
Every  nook  was  explored — every  puddle  made  turbid. 
Frogs  hid  their  heads,  not  daring  to  croak,  and  crabs  kept 
out  of  sight  in  dread  of  hot  water ;  even  the  sharks  kept 
clear  of  the  shore,  for  fear  of  the  amateur  destroyer ;  and 
had  it  not  been  for  the  merciless  persecution  of  men,  the 
little  fishes  would  have  had  a  fine  jubilee. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

"  SEE,  Ernest,"  said  Evelyn,  on  his  return  from  the  post- 
office — "  See,  I  have  got  letters  from  De  Koven.  He  is 
traveling  all  about,  and  he  writes  now  from  Saratoga. 
He  has  been  to  the  Falls,  and  he  says  he  is  living  a  kind 
of  vagabondizing  life,  and  is  getting  to  be  as  arrant  a 
vagrant  as  any  lazy  landsman  he  meets.  Lundy  has  com- 
mand of  the  Orphan,  and  is  following  some  coasting  trade, 
and  De  Koven  is  coming  to  Sea-spray,  to  have  a  day's 
fishing  with  you,  before  sailing  for  Europe,  which  he  in- 
tends doing  in  the  early  autumn.  He  says,  '  Ask  the  boys 
if  that  box  is  emptied,  and  if  it  is  orthodox  in  Sea-spray  to 
receive  any  but  annual  visits  from  Santa  Glaus  ?' " 

"  I  will  write  to  him  myself,  papa,  and  tell  him  how  much 
I  thank  him  for  the  box  he  has  sent,  and  that  he  can  bring 
us  nothing  that  can  make  us  so  happy  as  himself." 

Ernest  turned  his  weary  little  head  on  his  pillow,  and 
dropped  asleep,  and  Evelyn  went  down  stairs,  and  joined 
Ada  in  the  parlor,  to  read  to  her  his  letters,  and  such  items 
of  news  from  the  city  papers  as  he  thought  might  awaken 
a  passing  interest  in  the  mind  of  his  drooping  and  silent 
wife. 

Ada  was  sitting  on  one  side  of  the  window,  which 
opened  upon  the  street,  drawn  back  out  of  sight  of  passers- 

9* 


210  SEA-SPRAY. 

by,  and  peeping  through  the  closed  blinds  at  the  moving 
and  motley  show.  She  made  no  reply  to  the  announce- 
ment of  De  Koven's  intended  visit — no  remark  or  token  of 
interest  in  anything  to  which  he  called  her  attention  as 
new  or  strange  in  the  columns  of  the  newspapers.  She 
was  moody,  and  Evelyn  had  become  so  accustomed  to 
seeing  her  in  that  state,  that  he  had  ceased  to  make  any  at- 
tempt to  coax  or  reason  her  into  a  better  frame  of  feeling. 

A  call  from  Mr.  Alden  compelled  her  to  rise  and  receive 
him  with  some  show  of  cordial  civility ;  after  which  she 
again  sunk  into  silence,  and  the  gentlemen  pursued  their 
conversation  without  her  participation. 

"  I  have  been  to  see  poor  Copperly,"  remarked  the  cler- 
gyman, "  and  I  find  him  considerably  amended.  His 
parents  have  arrived,  and  are  making  arrangements  for 
taking  him  and  the  children  to  their  own  home.  Mrs. 
Copperly  has  availed  herself  of  their  presence  to  take  her 
infant  and  leave  for  the  city." 

"  I  should  not  imagine  the  absence  of  the  lady  would,  in 
any  degree,  lessen  the  comfort  of  the  family,"  remarked 
Evelyn. 

"  I  was  truly  glad  she  was  gone,"  returned  Mr.  Alden, 
"  for  I  consider  the  mania  by  which  she  is  possessed  as 
'  legion,'  indeed.  If  you  combat  one,  another  rises ;  and 
every  argument  brought  forward  to  confute  her  positions, 
is  but  another  proof  of  the  oppression  of  which  she  com- 
plains. Opposition  but  strengthens  resistance,  and  fur- 
nishes weapons  to  be  turned  against  those  who  seek  to 
reclaim  her.  It  is  a  pity,  a  sad  pity,  to  see  a  family  for- 
saken in  this  manner.  I  cannot  understand  how  any 
woman  can  be  induced  to  leave  her  husband,  still  less  her 
helpless,  innocent  children,  to  follow  such  follies." 

Ada  rose  suddenly,  and  sprung  forward,  pale  as  marble, 


SEA-SPRAY.  211 

and,  confronting  the  clergyman,  she  looked  gaspingly  in 
his  face,  as  if  some  stinging  retort  was  on  her  tongue,  but 
no  words  came.  The  impulse,  whatever  it  was,  was  re- 
sisted ;  and,  sinking  languidly  upon  the  nearest  seat,  she 
whispered,  in  a  faint,  tremulous  voice  : 

"  The  room,  Walter,  is  oppressively  warm." 

The  blinds,  which  she  pertinaciously  insisted  at  all  times 
upon  keeping  down,  were  hastily  drawn  up,  and  a  stream 
of  fresh  air,  laden  with  the  dewy  perfume  of  many 
sweet  blossoms,  breathed  refreshingly  upon,  and  revived  her. 

"  I  see  you  often,  at  a  very  early  hour,  in  the  graveyard," 
remarked  Mr.  Alden,  considerately  taking  up  a  new  subject. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Evelyn,  "  and  I  have  learned  many  profit- 
able lessons  in  my  solitary  rambles  among  the  tombs  of 
departed  generations.     I  have  read  the  family  history  of 
many  of  your  parishioners,  Mr.  Alden,  from   the   silent 
records  of  the  grave.     Names  have  become  familiar,  and  I 
trace  connections  and  intermarriages,  till  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
among  old  acquaintances.     When  my  own  heart  is  heavy, 
and  I  feel  my  own  burdens  hard  to  bear,  I  take  my  solitary 
walk  to  the  grave-yard,  and,  after  bending  in  grief  over 
one  little  grave,  where  sleeps  my  own  lost  treasure,  I  pass 
on,  and  count  the  accumulated  records  of  another's  be- 
reavements.    I  see  the  wife  and  mother  in  her  matron 
prime,  the  clustered    buds   blighted  in  their   infant  pro- 
mise, the  fair   young  girl    in  her  blushing  womanhood, 
and  the  ardent  boy  just  verging  upon  manhood,  all  bearing 
one  name — the  priceless  treasures  cherished  in  one  bleed- 
ing heart ;  and  I  think  how  that  heart   has  ached,  and 
agonized,  and  patiently  endured,   and  I  bid  my  own  un- 
quiet spirit,  '  Peace,  be  still.'  " 
Mr.  Alden  replied,  with  much  feeling,  "  I  know,  my  dear 


212  SEA- SPRAY. 

sir,  it  is  no  consolation  in  the  hour  of  affliction,  to  know 
that  another  has  suffered  oftener  ;  but  it  is  good  sometimes, 
if  we  are  disposed  to  murmur,  to  compare  the  trials  we 
are  ourselves  called  to  meet  in  our  pilgrimage,  with  those 
which  we  see  others  bending  under,  but  bravely  sustaining. 
It  teaches  us  humble  submission  :  it  should  teach  us  grate- 
ful thanksgiving." 

"  That  is  the  lesson  I  learn ;  and  I  try  (not  always  sue- 
cessfully)  to  apply  and  profit  by  its  teachings." 

Mr.  Alden  rose  to  leave,  and  in  extending  the  parting 
courtesies,  he  remarked : 

"  We  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  the  parson 
age,  Mrs.  Evelyn.  I  fear  you  are  secluding  yourself  more 
than  is  good  for  your  health.  Let  me  urge  you  to  take  the  air 
a  little,  and  accompany  your  husband  when  his  walk  lies 
our  way." 

"  It  is  true  I  do  go  out  but  little.  I  have  no  particular 
sympathy  with  Evelyn's  strange  taste  for  prowling,  like  a 
vampire,  among  graves." 

Mr.  Alden  made  his  adieus  hastily,  and  left  without  a 
word.  He  saw  the  pained  glance,  the  indignant  flash 
in  Evelyn's  eye,  the  kindling  flush  that  turned  on  his 
cheek,  and  with  his  own  face  glowing  hot  with  displeasure, 
he  walked  rapidly  homeward. 

"  Mrs.  Evelyn,"  said  Evelyn  sternly,  "  I  am  deeply  mor- 
tified at  your  coarse,  unwomanly  taunt ;  I  am  angry  and 
irritated  rather  than  wounded.  Have  a  care,  Madam,  have 
a  care !  I  think  you  have  scarce  the  power  to  break  my 
heart,  but  you  may  weary  out  its  love." 

Evelyn  threw  down  the  papers,  which  he  had  taken  up 
mechanically,  and  with  an  air  of  impatience  and  excite- 
ment, wholly  unusual  to  him,  walked  hastily  through  the 


SEA-SPRAY.  213 

house  and  out  into  the  fields  beyond  it.  He  walked  almost 
furiously  on.  He  sought  to  fly  from  the  thoughts  that  were 
goading  him  :  to  find  peace  for  his  chafing  spirit,  balm  for 
his  hurt,  crushed  heart  in  the  cool  evening  air,  and  the 
calm,  quiet  repose  of  the  silent  night,  away  among  the 
green  fields  with  their  waving  and  rustling  crops,  in  the  light 
of  the  solemn  stars,  to  war  with  himself,  and  to  put  down  the 
promptings  of  the  unchained  demon  withiri  him.  It  was  a 
hard  battle.  It  needed  the  strength  of  the  "  strong  man 
armed"  to  quell  the  tumult,  to  say  to  stung  pride,  to  out- 
raged affection,  to  scoffed  and  insulted  tastes,  "down, 
down,  and  be  trodden  on."  He  was  shocked  and  startled, 
as  he  looked  into  his  heart  and  sternly  questioned  it,  to 
find  that  a  change  had  unconsciously  come  over  it — that 
anger  and  disapprobation,  even  disgust,  sat  darkly  frown- 
ing beside  the  once  sweet  image  of  Ada — that  the  continual 
little  irritations  and  annoyances  to  which  she  subjected 
him,  like  the  "  constant  droppings  which  wear  away  stone," 
had  lessened  the  solid  masonry  of  love,  and  the  idol  swayed 
insecurely  in  the  deep  niche  in  which  he  had  shrined  it. 
Was  it  indeed  so?  He  shuddered  at  the  view  which  his 
self-examination  had  opened  to  him. 

'' Has  it  come  to  this  ?  Am  I  so  changed  ?  Have  I  learned, 
instead  of  the  '  soft  answer  that  turneth  away  wrath,'  to 
use  the  cold  epithet  and  angry  retort?  Have  I  lost  the 
1  love  that  covereth  all  sins/  and  turned,  like  a  wrangling 
boy,  to  bandy  words  of  bitterness  with  my  wife  ?" 

He  walked  on,  and  paused  by  the  hedge-row  dividing  the 
fields.  The  night  was  still,  and  he  leaned  against  a  tree  and 
listened  to  the  roar  of  the  sea,  as  wave  after  wave  dashed  on 
the  beach.  The  sound  awakened  many  thrilling  associations. 
Softened  and  subdued,  Evelyn  covered  his  face  with  his 


214  SEA-SPRAY. 

hands,  and  there,  in  the  faint  gleaming  light  of  the  starry 
evening  sky,  he  bowed  in  tearful  pleadings  to  his  Maker. 

"  Oh,  thou  who  settest  the  solitary  in  families,  let  not 
the  water-flood  overflow  me,  neither  let  the  deep  swallow 
me  up  ;  hide  not  thy  face  from  thy  servant,  for  I  am  full 
of  heaviness  :  for  it  was  not  an  enemy  that  has  done  this — 
then  could  I  have  borne  it ;  but  it  was  my  companion,  my 
guide,  my  familiar  acquaintance,  with  whom  I  should  take 
sweet  counsel,  and  in  whose  company  I  should  walk  to  the 
house  of  God." 

Evelyn  returned  to  his  home  with  a  cooled  brow  and  a 
calmer  heart,  with  a  determination  to  discipline  and  put 
down  his  feelings,  and  to  keep  his  temper  under  better 
subjection.  He  found  Ada  sitting  with  her  face  buried  in 
Ernest's  pillow,  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping.  He  ap- 
proached her  gently,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  silken 
tresses,  hanging  loose  and  disheveled  over  her  brow, 
spoke  kindly  and  affectionately  : 
'*  Ada,  my  poor  little  petted  spoiled  child  of  a  wife,  look  up." 

Ada  placed  her  cold  trembling  hand  on  his  arm,  but 
she  did  not  look  up. 

"  Ada,  we  are  alone,  with  the  exeption  of  Ernest,  alone 
in  this  wide  world.  Why  should  contention  come  betwixt 
us  twain  ?  What  is  it,  Ada,  this  evil  spirit  that  of  late  is 
so  continually  interposing  itself  between  us  ?" 

"  It  is  I,  Walter :  I  am  the  cloud  that  darkens  your  sun 
of  life.  But  I  cannot — I  cannot  be  other  than  I  am.  Oh, 
that  you  had  let  the  waves  cover  me,  that  you  had  left  me 
to  die,  then  had  not  this  blight  been  over  your  days—  then 
had  not  this  great  sin  been  on  my  soul." 

<;  Ada,  Ada !  this  is  wild  language,  of  fearful  import  if 
it  really  have  any  meaning  hidden  from  me ;  wantonly 


SEA-SPRAY.  215 

wicked  if  it  be  only  the  vehicle  for  the  venting  of  impa- 
tience and  vexation." 

"  I  tell  you  again,  Walter,"  said  Ada,  with  a  sharp,  petu- 
lant tone,  "  I  cannot  be  other  than  I  am — I  cannot  change 
myself.  Bear  with  me  as  I  am." 

"  I  will  bear  with  you;  I  do  bear  with  you,  Ada,  lov- 
ingly, patiently, ,-  uncomplainingly.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
change  yourself,  but  I  do  ask  you  to  control  your  petulant 
and  childish  vagaries  of  temper ;  I  do  ask  you  to  search 
your  heart.  Examine  it,  Ada,  candidly,  carefully,  conscien- 
tiously, and  see  if  there  be  any  evil  thing  in  it ;  if  there  be, 
I  beseech  you,  as  you  value  the  peace  of  our  coming  years, 
for  the  sake  of  our  darling,  dying  Ernest,  by  the  blessed 
memory  of  our  departed  Edith,  I  do  beseech  you,  Ada, 
cast  it  out ;  let  it  not  longer  poison  your  temper  and  em- 
bitter your  life." 

Evelyn  drew  towards  him  the  little  table  on  which  lay 
his  Bible  and  Prayer-book.  He  turned  over  the  pages,  but 
he  could  not  read.  Ada  was  sobbing  hysterically ;  his 
hand  was  trembling,  and  his  cheek  was  flushing  with  an 
agitation  too  painful,  too  unholy,  too  earthly ;  it  was  pro- 
faning the  blessed  volume  to  touch  it  now.  He  closed  it  and 
walked  out  into  the  open  air,  and  sitting  down  on  Ernest's 
little  seat,  under  the  great  willow  tree,  he  wrestled  with 
himself  in  the  strivings  of  bitter  self-condemnation. 

"  Again,  and  so  soon  unmanned  ?  Irritated,  vexed, 
angry — and  for  what  ? — with  whom  ? — for  the  tears  and 
sobs  my  own  words  have  called  forth — with  my  wife, 
broken  in  health,  sick  at  heart,  weary  and  wan  with 
watching — the  frail,  delicate  thing,  with  none  but  me  to 
cheer  and  cherish  her.  I  am  fearfully  changed,  and  what  is 
wrong  in  myself  I  charge  upon  Ada.  I  accuse  her  of  pet- 


216  SEA-SPRAY. 

ulance.  I  am,  perchance,  ungenerous  and  unjust.  1  must 
school  myself  anew.  I  must  teach  my  heart  better  things." 
The  little  village  was  quiet  ;  the  hurrying  throng  of 
laughing  idlers  had  sought  their  homes  ;  all  was  still,  save 
the  dash  of  the  breaking  wave  and  the  murmur  of  the  soft 
south  wind  among  the  dewy  leaves.  Suddenly  there  rose 
on  the  still  night  air  a  strain  of  music — soft,  slow,  and 
solemn ;  it  swelled  out  on  the  silent  starlight  of  the  deepen- 
ing night.  Evelyn  listened — and  his  feelings  were  calmed 
and  tranquilized  as  he  listened  to  the  deep,  powerful,  plea- 
sant voices  of  some  half  dozen  young  men  singing,  on  the 
little  "stoop"  or  open  platform,  in  front  of  an  opposite 
building,  "  Rock  of  Ages,"  "  Loving  Kindness,"  and  other 
favorite  hymns,  then  much  in  vogue  in  prayer-meetings  in 
Sea-spray.  Soothed  and  strengthened,  Evelyn  sat  rapt  in 
pleased  attention,  till  the  little  company  of  singers  sepa- 
rated, wending  in  various  directions  to  their  homes. 

On  returning  to  his  room,  Evelyn  found  Ada  sitting  by 
the  open  window,  the  tears  still  glistening  on  her  cheeks, 
but  the  storm  of  passionate  sorrow  had  passed  by. 

"  Beautiful,  was  it  not,  Walter  ?"  she  said,  as  he 
entered. 

"  It  was  beautiful,  Ada.  It  was  just  the  thing  to  soothe 
a  heart  at  war  with  itself — a  needful  and  pleasant  prelude 
to  our  own  evening's  devotions.  The  lights  are  all  out 
Ada  ;  it  is  late." 

Ada  drew  her  little  bench  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  at 
her  husband's  feet ;  while  he  once  more  laid  his  hand  on 
his  book. 

"  Walter,  before  I  kneel  by  your  side,  say  that  you  for- 
give me.  Take  me  again  to  your  love.  Not  till  I  can 
read  forgiveness  in  your  face,  can  I  lift  up  my  heart  with 
its  petition  for  forgiveness  elsewhere." 


SEA-SPBAY.  217 

"  For  every  grief,  for  every  irritation,  for  every  unquiet 
thought  you  have  ever  caused  me,  as  I  would  hope  for- 
giveness of  my  own  sins,  Ada,  I  forgive  you.  Let  there 
be  peace  between  us,  while  we  ask  peace,  and  protection, 
and  pardon  from  on  high." 

There  was  peace  between  them.  There  were  no  more 
taunting  words,  or  cold  recriminations.  If,  in  the  silent 
watches  of  that  soft,  summer  night,  ther6  came  to  the  one, 
dark,  disturbing  surmisings  and.  fearful  misgivings,  or  to  the 
other,  bitter,  remorseful  repentings,  they  found  no  expression 
in  words  ;  and  if  there  was  not  peace  within,  with  each 
other,  and  with  the  sleeping  world  around  them,  there  was, 
at  least,  its  smiling  semblance,  and  neither  knew  if  with 
the  other  it  was  not  real.  So  the  stars  kept  watch  over 
sleeping  and  sleepless,  and  silence  and  darkness  held  their 
brief  reign  over  dewy  Sea- spray. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  any  arrangements  were 
made  for  another  fishing  excursion,  and  there  was  quiet 
and  apparent  contentment  among  the  resident  and  fluctu- 
ating population  of  the  village.  There  were  strivings,  in- 
deed, and  plottings,  among  the  caterers  for  the  hotel  and 
boarding-house  tables,  for  the  first  choice  out  of  the  fisher- 
man's baskets,  for  the  earliest  measure  of  clams,  and  the 
choicest  cuts  from  the  traveling  butcher's  stall.  Churnings 
were  watched  with  eager,  vigilant  eyes,  by  those  emulous 
of  sweet,  fresh  butter ;  and  fearful  were  the  forays  made 
upon  early  gardens,  and  unremitting  the  espionage  kept 
upon  every  green  thing  that  shoots  out  of  soft  mould.  Tall, 
gaunt,  round-shouldered  men,  in  "  round-abouts"  marvel- 
ously  short  just  behind,  or  in  long,  flapping  linen  "  wrap, 
rascals,"  cantered  along  the  street,  daily,  at  uncertain  hours, 
stooping  under  long  baskets,  suspended  on  fanciful  crooked 


218  SEA-SPRAY. 

poles,  over  their  shoulders,  hawking  anything  they  could 
lift  from  the  water,  but  never  crying  "  stale  fish."  If  a 
vain-glorious  hen  cackled  inconsiderately  in  a  barn-yard, 
more  than  one  breathless  competitor  would  be  seen  run- 
ning to  "  put  in  proposals"  for  the  prize. 

Housekeepers  on  small  scales  were  seen,  occasionally, 
looking  in  at  the  tail  of  the  butcher's^  cart,  with  their 
aprons  over  their  heads,  anxiously  chaffering  for  a  knuckle- 
bone for  soup,  or  a  bit  of  a  shoulder  for  "  hodge-podge," 
never  aspiring  to  the  hopeless  feat  of  achieving  the  choice 
pieces  forestalled  by  the  "  boarders."  Happy,  then,  was  it 
for  those  (luckily,  they  were  not  a  few)  whose  cellars  were 
abundantly  stored  with  salt  junk  ;  for  all  articles  of  house- 
hold consumption  were  at  a  premium,  and  it  was  the 
season  for  famine,  the  great  annual  period  of  fasting, 
without  its  solemn  concomitants,  in  the  stormed  village  of 
Sea-spray. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ON  a  cool,  breezy  morning  Evelyn  was  joined  by  Mr. 
Alden  on  his  walk,  and  they  directed  their  steps  towards 
the  Beach,  crossing  the  little  bridge  which  lay  almost 
directly  in  the  rear  of  the  parsonage.  They  discussed 
many  topics  of  no  particular  interest :  local  affairs,  general 
politics,  then  at  the  height  of  fermentation,  for  the  ap- 
proaching presidential  election. 

"I  spent  my  last  summer,"  remarked  Evelyn,  "in  a 
little  retired  village  in  New-Hampshire.  It  was  a  smiling, 
peaceful  place,  and  my  life  flowed  away  very  pleasantly." 

"  Did  you  find  pleasant  society  there  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Alden. 

"  I  never  seek  society  of  late,"  replied  Evelyn,  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  think  I  should  have  found  it,  for  I  find  kind 
hearts  and  cultivated  minds  everywhere  ;  but  I  made  no 
acquaintance,  except  with  the  pastor  of  the  parish.  I 
always  avail  myself  of  the  ministrations  afforded  at  the 
nearest  place  of  worship,  where  I  cannot  reach  the  church 
of  my  own  preference  ;  consequently  I  sought  the  ac- 
quaintance of  the  clergyman  settled  over  the  congregation 
in  which  I  found  myself.  He  was  an  old  man,  of  the 
genuine  Puritan  stamp,  and  stern  in  his  denunciations  of 
those  who  were  not  adherents  to  the  doctrines  he  held 
to  be  the  only  infallibly  orthodox." 


220  SEA-SPRAT. 

Mr.  Alden  smiled  as  he  asked,  "  Did  he  convince  you 
that  his  doctrines  were  infallible  ?" 

"  We  agreed  to  let  doctrines  alone.  It  was  a  new  thing 
for  me  to  be  so  long  an  attendant  upon  the  services  of  that 
denomination,  and  I  pined  for  the  delightful  and  familiar 
ritual  of  my  own  church,  till  it  became  an  actual,  painful 
want.  There  were  some  things  which  struck  me  as  very 
singular.  I  allude  to  the  total  neglect  of  the  public  use  of 
the  '  Decalogue,'  and  the  entire  rejection  of  the  '  Lord's 
Prayer.'  On  one  or  two  occasions,  when  the  old  pastor 
exchanged  with  some  younger  brother,  or  when  some 
traveling  agent  visited  the  parish,  and  turned  the  rightful 
incumbent  out  of  his  pulpit,  while  he  presented  the  claims 
of  his  pet  '  Institution'  or  '  Society,'  I  thought  I  should 
hear  the  Lord's  Prayer.  They  did  commence  with  one  or 
two  of  the  first  petitions,  but  invariably  flourished  off  with 
some  sounding  improvement,  substituting  language  of  their 
own  in  the  place  of  the  text,  and  fancying  they  had 
bettered  the  blessed  words  of  their  Master." 

"  I  am  conscious  it  is  too  much  the  case — too  much  the 
case,  Mr.  Evelyn,"  replied  the  pastor,  earnestly. 

"  May  I  ask,  is  this  omission  peculiar  to  the  parish  in 
which  I  observed  it,  or  is  it  a  general  practice  in  your  de- 
nomination ?" 

"  I  fear  it  is  a  very  general  thing.  To  be  honest  with 
you,  I  must  confess,  I  do  not  recollect  ever  to  have  heard 
the  Decalogue  from  the  pulpit  of  my  own  church." 

"  Is  the  omission  prescribed  among  the  articles  of  your 
'  Confession  of  Faith,'  or  is  it  accidental,  or  optional  with 
your  teachers  ?" 

"  We  have  no  peremptory  established  forms.  Every 
clergyman  is  at  liberty  to  make  his  own  selection  of  the 


SEA-SPRAY.  221 

portion  of  Scripture  to  be  read,  and  of  course  generally 
takes  such  chapters  or  passages  as  bear  upon  the  subject 
on  which  his  discourse  is  founded.  He  can  read  the  chap- 
ter containing  the  Commandments,  if  that  suits  his  pur- 
pose. The  use  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  or  the  Decalogue  is 
neither  enjoined  nor  prohibited  ;  it  is  discretionary  with 
the  preacher.  But  as  our  worship  is  conducted,  there  is 
no  place  where  the  Commandments  can  be  introduced  as  a 
distinct  part  of  the  service.  I  agree  with  you  entirely.  It 
is  a  deplorable  omission." 

They  had  now  gained  the  Beach,  and  strolling  leisurely 
along  the  sand,  by  a  very  natural  association  called  up  De 
Koven,  and  Mr.  Alden  inquired: 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  recently  from  our  young 
friend,  Captain  De  Koven  ?" 

Evelyn  answered  the  question,  giving  his  companion 
such  items  of  intelligence  as  he  had  last  received. 

"  You  are  strongly  attached  to  De  Koven  ?"  said  the 
clergyman,  giving  what  was  designed  as  a  leading  remark, 
the  tone,  if  not  the  form  interrogative. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Evelyn.  "  I  owe  him  (secondarily  that 
is) — I  owe  him  life,  and  what  I  have  known  of  happiness, 
since  I  first  knew  him.  We  have  been  more  than  once 
thrown  together  in  perilous  and  trying  hours.  Let  us  sit 
down  on  this  spar,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  incidents  which 
led  to  our  acquaintance." 

The  pastor,  nothing  loth,  for  in  truth  he  was  not  a  little 
anxious,  did  as  he  was  desired.  Evelyn  looked  out  sadly 
upon  the  sea  a  moment  before  he  spoke,  as  if  the  thoughts 
about  to  be  called  up  were  not  wholly  unshadowed  by  pain. 

"  I  was  born  at  the  South,  but  was  sent  to  New- York, 
which  was  the  early  home  of  my  parents,  when  yet  quite 


222  SEA-SPRAY. 

a  child,  with  an  only  sister  two  years  younger  than  myself, 
consigned  by  our  dying  father  to  the  protection  and  care 
of  his  parents.  I  was  educated  in  New- York,  graduating 
very  young  at  Columbia  College,  my  tastes  and  inclinations 
pointing  strongly  to  the  church,  a  preference,  however, 
which,  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  I  was  deterred  from 
gratifying.  Mary  was  also  educated  at  home,  and  our 
early  years  passed  as  they  pass  ordinarily  with  those  in 
our  station  of  life.  Our  grandparents  died ;  but  we  still 
made  our  home  in  the  old  establishment,  with  a  bachelor 
uncle,  by  whom  we  were  petted,  and  cherished,  and 
spoiled,  like  other  ungoverned  children,  by  indulgent  and 
fond  friends.  He  too,  died,  leaving  us  with  wealth  to  our 
heart's  content,  and  with  troops  of  such  friends  as  wealth 
secures :  but  we  were  without  kindred  ties,  and  we  lived 
for  and  in  each  other.  Our  mother  died  young  of  con- 
sumption, which  had  carried  all  her  family  in  youth  to  the 
grave,  and  it  was  with  a  pang  I  shall  never  forget  that  I 
first  began  to  mark  in  Mary  the  approach  of  the  destroyer." 

Evelyn  paused  a  moment,  as  if  living  over  again  that 
period  of  sorrow,  and  then  resumed,  with  a  softened  voice  : 
"  There  was  no  delay  in  seeking  remedies.  The  first  medi- 
cal skill  of  the  country  was  appealed  to ;  but  the  case 
baffled  all  attempts  at  treatment,  and  I  saw  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  all  my  efforts  to  save  her. 

"  We  traveled,  seeking  change  of  air  and  change  of 
scene.  She  was  amused,  for  she  did  not  suffer  much :  and 
I  wandered  from  place  to  place,  with  a  restlessness  more 
my  own  than  hers,  for  she  was  calm  and  happy,  and  but 
for  my  loneliness,  would  willingly  have  passed  away.  As 
a  last  resort,  I  was  advised  to  take  her  from  the  severity  of 
our  winter,  and  we  went  to  Madeira.  But  it  was  of  no 
avail ;  after  a  short  time  she  passed  away  noiselessly  and 


SEA-SPRAY.  223 

uncomplainingly,  as  a  snow-wreath  in  the  sun,  and  I  was  left 
without  an  object  for  my  affections,  or  an  interest  in  life. 
I  had  observed,  once  or  twice,  when  I  was  taking  Mary 
out  a  short  distance,  and  subsequently,  when  I  took  a  hasty 
turn  for  fresh  air  without  her,  a  delicate,  sad-looking  young 
girl,  supporting  another  scarcely  more  fragile,  in  a  slow, 
feeble  walk.  For  a  time  I  missed  them.  Again,  I  saw  the 
one.  She  was  alone,  with  a  cloud  of  sorrow  on  her  sweet 
pale  face ;  but  the  new-made  grave,  with  its  offering  of 
flowers,  told  the  tale  which  needed  no  interpreter.  I  was 
engrossed  with  attendance  on  Mary,  and  I  saw  and  thought 
no  more  of  the  lone  stranger.  I  had  never  asked  her 
name — I  simply  saw  her  as  I  saw  the  moonlight  or  the 
flowers — they  lay  in  my  path,  but  they  were  nothing  to 
me.  My  heart  was  full  of  its  own  bitterness.  I  laid  Mary 
in  her  grave,  by  the  side  of  the  gentle  stranger,  and  I 
began  to  weary  of  the  lonely  life  I  was  leading  in  a  strange 
land.  It  was  hard  to  leave  Mary.  I  stood  with  a  break- 
ing heart  by  her  grave,  and  felt  that  it  was  cruel  to  leave 
her  lying  alone,  among  those  who  heeded  her  not ;  but  I 
knew  it  was  useless  to  stay,  and  it  mattered  little  whither 
I  went.  I  inquired,  and  found  a  small  trading  vessel,  with 
very  indifferent  accommodations,  about  to  sail  for  Eng- 
land. I  did  not  even  inquire  to  what  port  she  was  bound  ; 
my  object  wa_s  change  of  scene,  and  I  took  passage.  When 
I  went  on  board,  I  observed  no  passengers  but  one  or  two 
common-place,  rough-looking  men  of  business.  Great, 
then,  was  my  surprise,  when  the  fair  girl  I  had  noticed  on 
my  walk  made  her  appearance  upon  deck,  accompanied  by 
a  pleasant,  plain,  matronly  woman,  and  a  delicate,  slender 
youth,  her  son.  We  met  as,  of  course,  in  such  limited 
quarters,  people  must  meet,  but  our  acquaintance  did 


224  SEA-SPRAY. 

not  extend  beyond  a  simple  matter-of-fact  remark,  or  the 
occasional  interchange  of  some  little  unavoidable  civility. 
All  I  learned  of  her  was,  that,  like  myself,  she  had  buried 
an  only  sister  in  the  sunny  land  we  had  just  left ;  and,  feel- 
ing too  impatient  to  wait  for  her  friends  to  come  for  her, 
had  put  herself  under  the  protection  of  the  lady,  who  was 
returning  with  her  son  to  England.  She  was  sorrowful, 
and  extremely  reserved,  seldom  entering  into  conversation 
with  any  one.  I  was  occupied  with  my  own  thoughts,  and 
felt  no  particular  interest  in  her,  and  our  voyage  went  on 
with  little  variety  :  from  clear  to  cloudy,  from  cloudy  to 
clear,  through  all  the  intermediate  stages,  was  the  only 
change.  We  were  nearing  the  coast  of  England,  and  a 
few  more  days  would  terminate  our  wearisome  voyage, 
when  a  gale  commenced,  which  increased  in  violence  till 
it  broke  over  us  in  appalling  fury.  For  some  hours  we 
reeled  and  staggered  under  it,  when  I  began  to  notice  sig- 
nificant looks  exchanged  among  the  hands,  anxious  consul- 
tations between  the  officers,  and  at  length  the  truth  came  : 
she  was  filling  fast !  The  excitement  and  terror  was  fear- 
ful ;  and  I  found  that,  wearied  of  life,  as  I  had  sometimes 
fancied  myself,  it  was  still  very  dear.  Then  it  was  that 
a  feeling  of  deeper  interest  for  my  helpless  fellow-voy- 
ager was  awakened  in  my  heart.  There  was  a  sorrow- 
ful similarity  in  our  recent  experience.  We  had  both 
buried  an  only  sister,  and  left  them  sleeping,  side  by  side, 
in  a  distant  land.  There  was  little  hope  of  saving  her,  but 
we  could  perish  together.  With  this  thought  exciting  me, 
I  worked  with  the  strength  of  frenzy,  lashing  together  two 
bamboo  settees  which  had  been  placed  on  the  deck  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  passengers.  It  was  a  frail  support, 
but  I  felt  it  was  little  more  certain  of  destruction  than  the 


SEA-SPRAY.  225 

boats  into   which  the  crew  and  passengers  were  madly 
crowding.     The  poor  girl  sat  perfectly  helpless,  fainting 
with  terror,  but  there  was  none  to  care  for  her.     How 
could  they,  when  care  for  themselves  was  vain  ?     She  did 
not  notice  when  I  addressed  myself  to  her ;  she  was  para- 
lyzed, and  powerless  as  an  infant;  but  she  made  no  show 
of   resistance,  and  I  secured  her  in  the  best   manner  I 
could  to  the  simple,  slender  raft  I  had  prepared  for  myself, 
and  in  silence,  scarcely  broken  by  a  sigh,  I  awaited  our 
fate.     The  boats  had  put  off  without  regarding  the  two 
helpless  beings  left  behind.     The  vessel  settled  gradually — 
so  very  gradually,  that  a  wild  hope  began  to  throb  in  my 
heart.     Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  my  fainting  charge 
lay  silent  in  my  arms.     The  wind  abated,  the  swell  sub- 
sided, and  the  abandoned  vessel  drifted   helplessly  on  the 
sea.     Hours   and   hours   passed    on,  darkness   and   night 
were  around  us.     Morning  came,  the  clouds  cleared  away, 
and  we  drifted  on,  helpless  and  hopeless.     Occasionally, 
a  faint  expression  of  thanks  for  my  care,  or  a  whispered 
prayer,    trembled   on   the   pale  lips   of   the    poor    girl    so 
strangely  committed   to   my  protection.      But  weariness 
and  exposure  wore  heavily  upon  us  both  ;  cold,  hunger, 
thirst  and   misery,  and   at  length  exhaustion  and  drowsi- 
ness, overpowered  me ;  yet  my  arms  never  once  relaxed 
the  clasp  of  the  light  form  they  supported.     A  long,  deep 
sleep  came  over  me — how  long  I  know  not,  but  a  sound  of 
voices  was  in  my  ears.     I  had  consciousness  to  know  that 
human  aid  was  near.     I  had  a  dreamy,  confused  percep- 
tion of  faces  bending  over  me,  and   the  face  of  Clarence 
De   Koven,  then    first    seen,    always    comes    up    to    my 
thoughts  associated  with  feelings  of  deliverance,  safety  and 
peace.     He  it  was,  then  a  boy,  and  sailing  with  his  father, 

10 


226  SEA-SPKAT. 

who  first  discovered  us,  a  distant  speck  on  the  ocean,  and 
insisted  on  lowering  a  boat  and  rowing  off  in  pursuit, 
against  the  better  judgment  of  every  other  man.  But  he 
ruled  all  on  board  his  father's  ship  with  the  strong  sway  of 
love  ;  and,  thanks  to  his  hot-headed  determination,  he  car- 
ried his  point  then. 

"  On  board  his  ship  we  were  nursed'with  skill  and  tender- 
ness ;  but  it  was  long  before  any  signs  of  returning  con- 
sciousness displayed  themselves  in  Ada.     She  lay  in  a  sort 
of  stupor,  sometimes  looking  about  her  with  an  inquiring, 
bewildered  gaze,  then  sinking  again  into  a  dozing,  absent 
state,  taking  with  childlike  submission  whatever  was  offered 
her,  answering  all  questions  readily  and  lucidly,  but  asking 
none  in  return ;  making  no  remark  or  comment  on  any 
subject,   and   manifesting   no  interest   in   any   person   or 
thing.      It  was    a  strange   and  perplexing  position  for  a 
young  man,  as  I  then  was,  to  have  a  beautiful  and  helpless 
stranger  thus  cast  upon  his  care.     I  had  no  home,  no 
relatives  with  whom  I  could  place  her.     De  Koven  was  a 
seaman,  with  no  home  but  his  ship  and  his  hotel.     How- 
ever, he  had  some  acquaintance  in   Boston,  and  on  our 
arrival  he  found  a  situation  for  our  almost  unconscious 
charge  in  a  quiet  private  family,  where  she  found  judicious 
care  and  skilful  medical  treatment.     By  degrees  her  health 
and  cheerfulness  returned,  and  I  began  to  think  of  our  rela- 
tive positions.     It  was  due  to  her  delicacy  and  to  my  own 
sense  of  propriety.     I  offered  to  accompany  her  to  Eng- 
land, or  to  procure  for  her,  if  she  preferred  it,  a  suitable 
companion  of  her  own  sex,  to  restore  her  to  her  friends. 
I  wished  first  to  place  her  with  her  natural  protectors,  and 
then  to  marry  her  if  she  would  consent.      To  my  surprise, 
she  shrunk  from  the  proposition  with  passionate  protesta- 


SEA-SPRAY.  227 

tions  and  tears.  After  many  conversations,  I  drew  from 
her  the  confession  that  she  was  under  promise  of  marriage 
to  her  cousin ;  that  he  had  been  brought  up  with  her 
under  her  father's  roof,  the  orphan  son  of  an  only  brother ; 
that  he  was  a  clergyman,  and  had  succeeded  to  her  father's 
living ;  that  the  thought  of  a  union  with  him  had  now 
become  distasteful ;  that  she  had  no  friends,  no  other  home 
to  go  to.  He  had  long  looked  upon  her  as  dead — let 
him  continue  to  do  so ;  the  grief  would  soon  be  over, 
while  the  fulfilment  of  their  childish  engagement  would 
but  entail  lifelong  unhappiness  upon  herself  and  him. 

"  I  could  not  say  anything  more.  I  felt  that  I  had 
earned  a  right  to  her,  and  I  had  no  inclination  to  take  her 
to  England  for  the  pleasure  of  relinquishing  her  to  another. 
There  was  but  one  course  open,  and  that  I  right  gladly 
pursued.  De  Koven  added  his  arguments  to  mine,  and 
we  convinced  her  that  delay  was  not  only  useless  but  in- 
jurious, and  I  married  her.  She  has  never  recovered  the 
shock  of  that  terrible  voyage  ;  and  our  recent  shipwreck 
and  attendant  affliction,  have  very  much  increased  her 
depression  of  late." 

"  And  have  you  never  persuaded  her  to  open  any  com- 
munication with  her  friends  in  England  ?"  asked  the  cler- 
gyman, in  evident  surprise. 

"  I  have  often  attempted  it,  but  without  success.  The 
idea  seems  so  distressing,  that  I  have  long  since  ceased  to 
urge  it.  She  never  speaks  of  her  cousin.  She  had  no 
other  relative.  She  seems  to  have  an  unaccountable 
horror,  I  sometimes  fancy  it  takes  the  form  of  insanity,  of 
being  recognized  and  known  to  be  in  existence." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  clergyman  anxiously,  laying 
his  hand  impressively  on  Evelyn's,  "  think  me  not  pre- 


228  SEA-SPRAY. 

suming ;  but  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  you  were 
rash  ?  Did  you  not  take  a  great  deal  upon  trust  ?" 

"  I  cannot  deny  it,"  replied  Evelyn,  sadly.  "  Such 
thoughts  have  intruded,  and  yet  I  have  no  cause  to  com- 
plain. She  has  been  to  me  all,  more  than  all  that  I  ever 
expected  to  find  in  a  wife.  I  knew,  Mr.  Alden,  that 
women  were  not  angels — that  they  were  full  of  failings 
and  imperfections;  yet,  with  the  exception  of  Ada's 
morbid  aversion  to  society,  and  her  trembling  sensitiveness 
of  feeling,  I  have  found  nothing  I  could  wish  to  alter.  If 
I  could  see  her  happy  I  should  feel  satisfied.  I  have  never, 
in  a  single  instance,  seen  aught  in  her  conduct  to  censure. 
I  have  found  her  pure  as  the  snow  in  word  and  thought ; 
and  yet  her  language  is  often  wild,  and  sometimes,  as  you 
have  witnessed,  cruel.  I  have  never  spoken  on  this  sub- 
ject before ;  and  now,  but  that  you  have  seen  some  of  her 
peculiarities,  I  should  have  held  my  peace.  J  seek  not  to 
conceal  that  my  thoughts  are  often  perplexing  and  painful, 
and  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the  dark." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  her  health  and  her  anxiety  about 
her  child.  She  is  nervous  ;  possibly  a  little  hysterical — 
depend  upon  it,  that  is  all.  Shs  will  get  the  better  of  it  in 
due  time.  Don't  allow  it  to  disturb  you  ;  it  will  all  come 
right." 

"I  hope  it  will,  certainly.  I  trust  that  this  burden  will 
be  removed,  for  at  times  I  feel  that  its  pressure  is  heavy." 

The  sound  of  the  old  "  town  clock"  groaning  out  twelve, 
reminded  them  that  the  morning  was  spent,  and  they  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  the  many  bathers  and  loungers  on 
the  Beach,  and  strolled  back,  along  the  green  lanes,  to 
their  homes. 

Evelyn,  who  had  become  "  one  of  the  family,"  and  per- 


SEA-SPRAY,  229 

fectly  at  home  in  the  house  in  which  he  had  become  so 
unexpectedly  domesticated,  passed  through  into  the  kitchen 
to  dry  his  boots  at  the  fire.  Ernest  and  Allen  were  busy 
in  the  heat  of  a  hotly  contested  battle  at  draughts.  Alice 
was  drawn  closely  up  between  the  jambs,  and  with  a  knit 
shawl  of  variegated  worsteds  clinging  close  to  her  shoulders, 
was  busy  in  the  construction  of  tidy  kettle  and  ironing 
holders  for  Dury's  especial  delight  and  convenience,  carrying 
out  what  was  one  of  the  governing  principles  of  her  life,  that 
you  must  "  save  if  you  would  spare,"  and  that  "  economy 
filled  the  hand  of  charity ;"  and  rendering  sure,  that  under 
her  administration,  there  should  be  no  exemplification  of 
the  truth  of  the  wise  saw,  "  wilful  waste  makes  wt»ful 
want."  Leena  was  bustling  about,  much  ruffled  in  mind, 
with  a  disfiguring  pout  on  her  flushed  face,  out  of  temper 
because  the  house  was  out  of  order,  with  a  broom  in  her 
short,  fat  hand,  savagely  punching  dust  out  of  corners, 
and  sweeping  wrathfully  along  the  beams  in  the  floor, 
kicking  superfluous  chip  baskets  out  of  doors,  and  dis- 
turbing a  marauding  fowl  in  its  depredations  on  the  corn- 
box. 

"  Hu  !  old  hin  took  hint  that  time,"  said  Dury,  laughing 
at  the  wrath  she  did  not  fear.  "  Wha's  Miss  Leena  want 
to  kill  herself  for  ?  Old  squaw  gonter  slick  up  t'rites." 

Dury  had  withdrawn  to  the  outer  courts  of  the  kitchen, 
where  she  was  occupied  in  some  of  the  mystical  initiatory 
rites  pertaining  to  dinner,  it  being  the  "  chief  end  of  man," 
according  to  her  creed,  to  eat,  and  the  chief  end  and  aim 
of  woman's  existence  to  prepare  his  food.  To  prepare 
delicate  dishes  and  savory  dainties,  to  tempt  Ada  and 
Ernest  to  eat,  was  a  duty  now  which  Dury  religiously  and 
unweariedly  followed  day  after  day,  morning,  noon  and 


230  SEA-SPRAY. 

night,  with  a  solemn  assiduity ;  for  she  had  heard  the 
mourning-  dove  complaining  in  the  old  trees  around  the 
house,  and,  firm  in  the  faith,  that  the  warning  was  not  for 
the  hearer,  she  bent  herself  the  more  zealously  to  her  labor 
of  love,  and  beat,  and  rolled,  and  broiled,  and  baked,  and 
kept  the  old  house  hot  with  the  steam  of  her  savory  doings ; 
following  the  promptings  of  her  simple,  kind  heart,  without 
ever  a  thought  of  thanks  for  her  care,  or  commendation  of  her 
skill.  Now,  however,  Dury's  usual  placidity  was  disturbed, 
and  she  put  her  head  in  the  door  with  a  look  of  dismay. 

"  Rooster's  crowed,  Miss  Ally !"  said  she,  with  a  troubled 
look. 

"  Well,  let  him  crow,  Dury.  1  suppose  he  thinks  he  has 
a  right  to  crow  on  his  own  territory." 

"  Don't  care  where  else  he  crows ;  don't  want  him 
crowing  on  de  stun." 

"  Drive  him  away,  then  ;  yo«  can  easily  do  that." 

"  But  he  has  crew,  Miss  Ally,  he's  crew  twice  clean  in 
door." 

"  He  is  a  full  feather  Yankee,  Dury  ;  he  will  crow,  just 
when  and  where  he  pleases,"  replied  Alice,  laughing. 

"  Any  fuss  with  the  feathers  ?"  asked  Evelyn,  looking  up 
from  the  Post,  which  he  considered  the  only  orthodox 
standard  of  political  faith. 

"What,  in  our  yard  ?  No,  indeed,"  said  Allen,  making  a 
disastrous  move.  "Doodledom  would  call  a  mass-meeting 
of  spurs,  and  pierce  him  to  death." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  him,  he  crowed  in  good  time  for 
me,"  said  Ernest,  in  great  glee,  "  for  Allen  made  a  bad 
move  in  consequence,  and  I  have  won  the  game." 

"  Wha'  shiller  do  Miss  Ally  ?  'cause  we  shall  have  com- 
pany ;  niver  knowed  it  to  fail,  nohow,"  said  Dury,  return- 
ing to  the  charge. 


SEA-SPRAY.  231 

"  What  then,  Dury  ?  Let  them  come,  they  wont  hurt  us." 

"  Thought  Miss  Ally  know'd  how't  we  hadn't  got  noyink 
fresh  ;  it's  dreffle  onlucky." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  distress,  is  it,  Dury  ?  You  may  cook,  if 
you  please,  all  day,  if  that  will  relieve  you." 

"  I  knowed  that  afore  Miss  Ally  told  me,  but  if  I  ony 
knowed  sartin  we  shouldn't  have  no  company,  we've  got 
tea  vittles  enough."  So  Dury  concluded,  with  great  trem- 
blings of  heart  and  mighty  misgivings,  to  run  the  risk  in 
spite  of  the  omen.  O,  fruitful  source  in  country  kitchens 
of  subterfuge  and  sin  ! — unexpected  company,  and  no  ortho- 
dox "tea  vittles" — with  no  baker's  shops  offering  refuge  in 
the  pinching  extremity — with  no  distributing  carts  with 
"  fresh  rusk"  and  "  tea-buscuit,"  stopping  in  the  critical 
moment  at  the  door — with  no  little  old  man,  with  his  long 
basket  and  snow-white  napkin,  bawling  "muffins"  and 
"crumpets"  in  at  your  kitchen  windows!  Who  shall  tell 
but  those  who  have  been  taught  in  the  school  of  careless, 
trust-to-luck  catering,  the  trials,  and  vexations,  and  morti- 
fications, and  blushes,  and  apologies,  and  expedients,  and 
fibs  of  a  cakeless  country  housekeeper  ! 

"  Dury,  Dury,  your  company  has  come,"  said  Ernest, 
laughingly  accosting  Dury,  as  a  dashing  carriage,  with 
prancing,  mettlesome  horses,  thundered  up  to  the  house. 

*'  I  knowed  they  would,"  said  Dury,  very  quietly ;  for 
the  pain  of  "  noyink  fresh"  was  more  than  compensated 
by  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  prediction  verified. 

"  Never  mind  them,  Dury,"  said  Alice,  they  are  inti- 
mate friends ;  what  is  good  enough  for  ourselves  is  good 
enough  for  them.  You  need  not  fret  yourself." 

"  La,  don't  mind  us,"  said  Mrs.  Denby,  laughing,  as  she 
ran  through  the  kitchen  to  pluck  a  green  apple  from  the 


232  SEA-SPRAY. 

tree;  "  we  are  half-starved,  and  we  never  have  anything 
fit  to  eat  at  home.  Only  be  sure  and  give  us  enough, 
Dury." 

Dury  was  mollified,  and  soon  in  all  the  glory  of 
"  stirring  up  suthin' ;"  was  trotting  from  pantry  to  cellar, 
and  from  cellar  to  pantry,  collecting  her  materials,  and 
preparing  to  dive  into  the  solemn  mysteries  of  flap-jacks, 
and  cream  toast,  and  soda  cake,  with  the  seasonable  ac- 
companiment of"  stewed  apple,"  and  fresh  picked  currants 
and  raspberries,  while  the  lively  guests  from  Gosport 
chattered,  and  laughed,  and  made  a  great  noise,  and  en- 
joyed everything,  from  the  sour  green  apples  in  the  yard, 
and  the  swing  on  the  trees  in  the  garden,  to  Dury's  im- 
promptu gathering  of  something  fresh  on  the  tea-table. 
So  they  frolicked  and  laughed,  and  ate  and  drank,  and 
rattled  home  again,  leaving  Dury  a  more  devout  believer 
than  ever  on  the  prescience  of  the  door-stone  prophet. 

Another  fishing  excursion  was  in  contemplation  for  the 
morrow  ;  for  Ernest,  too  feeble  to  take  much  exercise, 
liked  the  quiet,  easy  drive  in  the  soft  sandy  roads  without 
any  jolts,  and  the  pleasant  swing  of  the  bo.at,  in  which  he 
could  recline  at  his  ease  when  tired  of  fishing  himself,  and 
watch  the  sport  of  the  others  as  they  drew  in  their  captives. 
It  was  a  pleasant  anticipation,  and  he  went  to  sleep  to 
dream  of  rippling  waters,  of  softly  swaying  boats,  and 
silvery  little  fish.  The  carriage  was  at  the  door  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  the  little  party  started : — Ernest  in 
cheerful  good  humor  with  himself  and  all  the  world  ;  Allen 
pleased,  but  with  a  vague  sense  of  sadness,  originating, 
though  he  scarcely  knew  it,  in  the  feeling  that  Ernest's 
fishing  excursions  would  not  be  many ;  and  Evelyn,  with 
a  pang  at  his  heart,  which  it  cost  him  a  sore  struggle  to 


SEA-SPRAY.  233 

conceal,  as  he  observed  how  Ernest's  strength  had  failed 
since  his  last  day  on  the  bay.  Then  he  jumped  into  the 
carriage  with  a  light  step  ;  now  he  required  assistance,  and 
sat  down  silent  and  panting.  But  the  great  object  of  his 
life  now  was  to  make  happy  the  brief  pass'age  of  his  child. 
He  knew  whither  he  was  bound,  and  that  no  darkness  lay 
where  his  journey  tended.  It  was  to  scatter  every  cloud, 
and  remove  every  roughness  from  his  road,  that  his  little 
feet  should  go  with  all  possible  pleasantness  down  life's 
short  hill-side,  that  he  checked  every  sigh,  and  drove  back 
upon  his  heart  the  tears  that  he  would  not  suffer  to  gather 
in  his  eyes :  speaking  always  in  a  cheerful  tone,  and  meet- 
ing the  look  of  the  pale,  patient  boy  with  an  encouraging 
and  pleasant  smile. 

They  found  Mr.  Austin  ready  with  his  boat,  and  at 
Ernest's  intercession  his  two  boys  were  permitted  to  go 
with  them  :  Jim  to  share  in  the  sport,  and  little  Steenie 
to  enjoy  the  sail  and  enliven  the  hours  with  his  childish 
and  peculiar  prattle.  Ernest  soon  wearied  of  the  fishing, 
and  he  took  little  Steenie  on  the  seat  beside  him,  and 
drew  out  the  pure,  innocent  thoughts  of  the  artless,  intel- 
ligent child. 

"  So  you  don't  go  to  school  yet,  Steenie.  Well,  how 
much  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Not  so  much  as  father  does ;  not  half  so  much  as 
Jim." 

"  That's  a  right  honest  little  fellow.  What  do  you 
know?" 

"  I  know  who  made  me,  and  who  was  the  first  man  and 
first  woman,  and  the  oldest  man,  and  the  strongest  man, 
and  the  wisest  man,  and  the  meekest  man  ;  but  I  don't 
know  who  was  the  baddest  man,  do  yofl  ?" 

10* 


284  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  am  sure,  Steenie,  I  don't  know.  Who  do  you  think 
does  ?" 

"  I  guess  father  knows,  if  any  body  does.  Father,  father, 
who  was  the  baddest  man  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  Steenie.  Bad  enough  is  the  best,"  re- 
plied Austin. 

"  Well,  then,  since  we  can't  find  that  out,  tell  me  what 
else  you  know,  Steenie  ?" 

"  Not  much  more,  for  I'm  a  little  boy,  you  know.  I  can 
say  '  Now  I  lay  me,'  and  some  of  '  Hush,  my  dear  ;'  and  I 
can  sing  '  Loving  Kindness,'  a  little,  not  much." 

"  Can  you,  Steenie  ?     Come,  let's  hear  you,  then." 

Steenie  began,  and  Allen  joined  him,  and  then  Jim,  and 
finally  Austin  himself;  and  they  went  through  the  hymn 
very  successfully,  considering  the  performers — baiting  their 
hooks  and  hauling  in  the  fish  the  while. 

Then  came  the  distributing  the  cold  chicken  and  tongue, 
and  the  bread  and  butter,  and  cakes  and  knicknacks, 
which  Dury  had  bountifully  provided,  with  the  lemonade 
of  grandpapa's  compounding,  and  the  "  least  drop  in  the 
world"  of  wine,  for  the  stimulating  and  bracing  of  Ernest, 
in  case  his  strength  flagged. 

Allen  was  sedulously  throwing  his  hook  again,  too  eager 
for  his  fun  to  care  for  his  food. 

"  Here,  Steenie,  here's  one  of  the  small-fry  of  the  family, 
the  baby-fish,"  said  he,  unhooking  and  passing  over  to 
Steenie  a  tiny  thing  scarcely  as  big  as  his  hand. 

Steenie  cast  a  sorrowing  and  almost  reproachful  glance 
at  Allen,  with  that  curl  of  the  under  lip  peculiar  to  child- 
hood which  tells  of  a  swelling  little  heart. 

"  Oh,  it  was  wicked  to  take  the  poor  little  thing.  You 
don't  know,  Allen*  how  badder  folks  feel  when  they's  chil- 
len  is  tookened  away." 


SEA-SPRAY.  235 

A  look  of  sorrowful  intelligence  was  exchanged  between 
Evelyn  and  Austin,  though  they  smiled  at  the  language  of 
the  child;  for  they  knew,  if  Allen  did  not,  the  feeling  which 
Steenie  in  his  childish  pity  attributed  to  the  fish. 

"  Who  knows,  Steenie,  but  Porgy's  father  and  mother 
may  be  in  the  basket.  Fling  him  in,  and  let  him  tell  them 
how  they  all  do  at  home,"  said  Austin,  putting  in  his  last 
bite  of  cake,  and  shaking  the  crumbs  from  his  great  ban- 
danna hankerchief. 

Steenie  brightened  up  his  face  at  the  thought,  and  did  as 
he  was  advised,  bending  lovingly  over  the  basket,  to  see 
the  meeting,  and  shouting  with  joy  as  the  little  gasping 
thing  opened  its  mouth  among  its  fellows. 

"  Oh,  father,  father,  he's  whispering  now !"  said  Steenie, 
clapping  his  hands.  "  Allen,  I'm  glad  you  catched  him, 
now.  Fishy,  little  Fishy,  ain't  you  glad  to  meet  again,  up 
here,  out  of  this  deep,  cold  water  ?" 

Evelyn  involuntarily  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  pale  face  of 
his  child,  to  the  blue  sky  above  him,  repeating,  softly,  "  Out 
of  this  deep,  cold  water ;"  and,  laying  to  his  heart  the 
consoling  lesson  conveyed  in  the  simple  words  of  the  un- 
conscious child,  he  once  more  turned  to  baiting  his  hook. 

"  There's  just  a  nice  little  breeze  now.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  Master  Ernest  would  like  hoisting  a  little  rag  of 
sail,  and  trolling  for  blue  fish  ?"  asked  Austin,  in  a  half- 
querying,  suggestive  tone. 

"  That  I  should,  right  well,  if  papa  likes  it,"  replied  Er- 
nest, eagerly. 

"  I've  a  notion  they'll  bite  at  the  line  pretty  spitefully, 
just  now,"  rejoined  Austin. 

So,  with  a  little  assistance  from  Jim,  the  sail  was  care- 
fully adjusted,  and  the  little  boat  began  to  dip  her  bows 


236  SEA-SPRAY. 

gracefully  to  the  waters,  as  she  glided  daintily  over  them, 
Austin  steadying  her  course,  and  reeling  off  his  line 
meanwhile. 

Then  came  the  real,  fine  sport,  and  fish  after  fish  came 
flapping  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  full  of  fight  and  fury, 
to  be  trusted  in  the  basket  with  the  humble  little  whisper- 
ing porgies. 

"  Ernest,"  said  Allen,  "  we  shall  have  to  rig  baskets  and 
poles,  and  peddle  our  fish  to-morrow.  I  will  take  one  side 
of  the  street,  and  you  may  take  the  other,  and  we  will 
divide  the  profits.  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  If  you  go,  I  will  agree  to  go  with  you,  if  papa  thinks 
best,"  replied  Ernest,  smilingly,  secure  that  he  was  safe 
without  his  proviso. 

But  the  wind  began  to  blow  rather  too  coolly  for  Ernest ; 
the  bay  began  to  be  ruffled,  and  to  show  little  tossing  white 
ctips  ;  so  Austin  dispensed  with  his  sail,  and,  taking  his 
oars,  pulled  lustily  for  the  shore. 

"  What  about  these  fish,  Mr.  Evelyn  ?"  asked  Austin,  as 
he  was  handing  the  various  articles  out  of  the  boat. 

"  0,  give  Ernest  and  Allen  a  few  of  the  finest  for  them- 
selves and  their  friends,  and  do  what  you  choose  with  the 
others. 

"  We  have  had  the  pleasure,  Steenie,"  said  Ernest,  put- 
ting his  arm  fondly  round  the  neck  of  the  bright  little  boy, 
"  and  Jim  may  have  the  profit.  Next  week,  again,  Mr. 
Austin  ;  and  mind,  Steenie,  find  out  and  be  ready  to  tell 
me  who  was  the  baddest  man,  when  I  come  again." 

"  I  don't  know  who  to  ask,  if  father  don't  know,"  re- 
plied the  child,  in  some  perplexity,  as  the  carriage  rolled 
away. 

"  Come,  boys."  said  Evelyn,  laughingly,  after  they  had 


SEA-SPRAY.  237 

washed  and  refreshed  from  their  day's  labors,  "  now  for  the 
baskets  and  poles.  Let  us  dispose  of  these  great  scaly 
fellows." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Ernest,  "we  must  keep  the  very  best 
for  grandpapa;  Allen  must  have  the  next  choice,  for  his 
father  and  mother,  and  Mr.  Welby ;  then  you  may  send 
the  next  to  Mr.  Alden  ;  and  Dury  may  make  to  herself 
friends  with  what  is  left." 

Ernest's  disposition  was  voted  about  right ;  and  that  day 
followed  the  flown  of  other  years,  carrying  its  account 
along  with  it. 

Day  followed  day,  bringing  in  their  flight  no  change  to 
the  aspect  of  Evelyn's  life — taking  daily  his  walk,  which 
Ernest  could  not,  and  Ada  would  not  join  ;  taking  counsel 
with  himself  on  subjects  upon  which  none  could  help  or 
enlighlen  him  ;  feeling  hourly  his  hopes,  and  with  them  his 
hold  on  life,  relaxing ;  looking  back  on  the  road  he  had 
thus  far  traveled,  and,  from  the  point  from  which  he  sur- 
veyed it,  acknowledging  to  himself  that  it  looked  cheerless 
and  desolate  ;  looking  forward  with  shrinking  dread  to  his 
earthly  future,  looming  up  darkly  in  the  distance,  its  bleak 
outlines  magnified  and  towering  through  the  mists  and  va- 
pors that  shrouded  it,  until  it  sometimes  almost  shut  out  from 
his  vision  the  calm,  clear  horizon  which  lay  smiling  beyond 
it.  But  Evelyn  did  not  forget  where  strength  was  to  be 
found  ;  and  sure  that  according  to  his  need  it  would  be  ac- 
corded unto  him,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  that  far  future  which 
faith  opened  to  his  gaze,  and  as  earthly  hopes  faded,  he 
looked  up  and  away. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

NEXT  week  came,  and  Evelyn  drove  down  to  make  his 
appointment  with  Austin  for  his  boat  the  next  day.  Austin 
hesitated  a  little. 

"  I  had  rather  lotted  out  to  go  to  Gosport  to-morrow, 
the  woman  wants  a  few  chores  done.  I'll  see  what  she 
says."  He  returned,  saying :  "  She  says  it  don't  matter 
much.  She  can  be  put  off  a  few  days  longer.  I'll  wait 
till  ten  o'clock,  it  will  be  early  enough  then  to  go  to  Gos- 
port, in  case  you  don't  come." 

With  this  understanding  they  separated. 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door ;  the  box  with  its  nicely 
packed  appointments  for  all  sorts  of  angling,  and  the 
basket  with  its  as  nicely  packed  provisions  for  all  sorts  of 
appetites,  were  put  in,  and  the  party  about  to  take  their 
seats,  when  Ada  called  from  her  chamber  window — 

"Walter,  may  I  go?" 

Walter  looked  up.     "  Are  you  serious,  Ada?" 

"  Yes  ;  will  you  wait  ?" 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure,  if  you  really  wish  to  go; 
though  this  morning  our  time  is  limited." 

Evelyn  went  back  into  the  house,  pleased  that  for  once 
she  wished  to  join  them,  but  doubtful  as  to  its  affording  her 
any  pleasure. 


SEA-SPRAY.  239 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  it  a  wearisome  day,  Ada. 
Are  you  able  to  undertake  it  ?" 

"  I  wont  go  if  you  don't  wish  my  company,"  said  Ada, 
pettishly. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,  you  know  it,  Ada.  My  only  fear 
is,  that  it  may  prove  too  fatiguing,"  replied  Evelyn,  not 
regarding  the  snarling  tone  of  her  speech. 

"  I  think  I  can  endure  as  much  as  Ernest,"  said  Ada, 
with  a  sullen  air. 

No  more  was  said,  and  Ada  stepped  into  the  carriage. 
They  moved  on,  when  she  discovered  she  had  forgotten 
her  gloves. 

"  I  can  do  very  well  without  them,"  she  replied,  pleasant- 
ly, to  Ernest's  expressions  of  regret. 

"  But  the  reflection  from  the  water  will  burn  your 
hands,  mother,"  persisted  Ernest. 

"Don't  be  disturbed,  my  son,"  interposed  Evelyn; 
"  we  are  just  by  the  store — we  will  stop  and  get  a  pair." 

The  gloves  were  ordered,  and  hastily  rolled  up.  Ada 
took  them  carelessly  in  her  hand,  and  they  rode  on  in 
pleasant  mood,  holding  amusing  discourse  on  the  various 
objects  presented  in  the  changing  scenery  through  which 
they  passed,  all  new  and  strange  to  Ada.  Ernest  too 
happy  that  his  mother  was  with  him  to  feel  anything  but 

j°y- 

"  Come,  it  is  time  to  put  your  gloves  on,  mother ;  we 
are  most  there.  OhJ  it  will  be  so  pleasant,  to-day, 
mother." 

Ada  unrolled  her  gloves ;  but  something  caught  her  eye 
on  the  fragment  of  newspaper  in  which  they  had  been 
wrapped.  She  scanned  it  an  instant  with  blanching 
trepidation,  thrust  it  hastily  into  her  pocket,  and  fell  back 
senseless  on  the  seat. 


240  SEA-SPRAT. 

It  was  no  strange  occurrence  for  Ada  to  faint;  it  did 
not  cause  any  serious  alarm.  But  this  was  too  protracted  ; 
it  began  to  be  terrifying ;  and  when  she  did  recover  con- 
sciousness, she  was  so  helplessly  prostrate  that  all  thoughts 
of  pursuing  their  plans  for  the  day  were  abandoned. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  drive  on  to  Col.  Preston's,  it  is 
not  far,  and  wait  till  the  lady  recruits,"  suggested  the 
driver.  It  did  seem  to  be  their  only  course.  So  they 
went  on,  fortunately  passing  Austin  at  work  in  a  field  near 
the  road.  He  came  up  to  the  carriage,  and  looking  in,  the 
pale  face  and  closed  eyes  of  the  fainting  Ada  were  sufficient 
explanation,  and  assuring  Evelyn  that  it  was  neither  in- 
convenience to  him  nor  disappointment,  he  returned  to  his 
work,  and  Evelyn  and  his  little  party  drove  on  to  Col. 
Preston's. 

It  was  as  pleasant  a  home  as  a  happy  heait  could  wish 
for,  that  pretty  little  abode  of  Isaac  Austin,  on  the  north 
shore  of  the  island,  a  few  miles  from  that  section  of  Sea- 
spray  called,  par  excellence,  "  Town."  Not  far  removed 
from  the  bay,  it  nestled  itself  cosily  within  the  shelter  of 
his  ancestral  trees,  for  Isaac  Austin  dwelt  where  his 
fathers  had  first  reared  the  rough  lintels  of  home  ;  and 
though  he  had  "pulled  down  his  barns  to  build  larger," 
and  though  a  more  modern  structure  occupied  the  site  of 
the  gray  old  mansion  in  which  they  had  been  born,  lived, 
loved,  suffered,  endured,  and  died,  he  still  dwelt  on  the 
same  old  spot,  and  tilled  the  same  patrimonial  fields ;  and  if 
he  had  availed  himself  of  the  improvements  and  discoveries 
at  which  they  would  have  scoffed ;  to  enrich  and  augment 
them,  he  had  departed  very  little  from  their  modes  of  life 
or  habits  of  thought. 

The  house,  with  its  white  roof  and  pretty  wing  kitchen 


SEA-SPRAY.  241 

and  bed-room,  stood  in  smiling  relief  against  its  green 
background  of  thrifty  young  woodland ;  while  the  barn, 
crib,  cow-housing,  ricks,  racks,  styes,  with  all  the  neat  and 
substantial  barn-yard  appointments  which  flanked  it,  spoke 
of  thrifty  abundance  of  worldly  goods,  and  of  sterling, 
honest,  contented  independence.  All  within  and  without 
was  quiet ;  the  bright,  clean  little  kitchen  stood  open,  and 
the  morning  sunshine  streamed  in  at  the  door,  but  there 
was  no  sound  save  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  on  the  great 
walnut  tree  which  stretched  its  old  arms  above  it.  The 
windows  stood  partially  open,  and  the  green  paper  curtains, 
rolled  neatly  down  to  meet  the  partition  in  the  sash,  mel- 
lowed the  glare  of  light,  while  the  white  muslin  drawn 
across  the  lower  division,  gently  waved  its  snowy  folds  as 
the  light  breeze  crept  in.  Ailsie  Austin,  the  mistress  of 
this  snug  sylvan  home,  was  gliding  noiselessly  about  her 
usual  domestic  employments,  stepping  in  and  out  from 
pantry  to  kitchen,  as  she.  skimmed  the  thick  golden  cream 
from  her  brimming  pans,  and  poured  their  despoiled  con- 
tents into  the  receptacle  prepared  for  them.  Her  dress  of 
black  and  white  calico,  with  the  simple  strand  of  black 
ribbon  pinned  round  her  neck,  told  of  recent  bereavement ; 
and  her  sad,  pale  face,  and  frequent  long  drawn  sigh  said 
how  much  she  still  suffered.  The  dark  wing  of  the  Angel 
of  Death  had  swept  over  the  roof,  and  the  house  was  still 
wrapped  in  that  peculiar  stillness  which  always  follows 
and  sleeps  in  its  shadow.  But  a  bounding  step  now  rung 
on  the  threshold,  and  Steenie,  the  light,  curly  headed  boy, 
followed  quick  on  the  sound. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  throwing  down  his  hat  and  emptying 
his  apron  of  the  violets  he  had  been  gathering — "  Mother, 
father  is  bringing  up  the  horses ;  don't  you  hope  he  is  going 
to  Gosport  ?" 


242  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  I  do,  Steenie,  if  he  thinks  it  is  best,  but  I  am  afraid  he 
wont  have  time  enough  to  go  comfortably." 

Isaac  Austin's  house  stood  a  considerable  distance  from 
the  high  road  which  led  to  the  bayside,  and  was  approached 
by  an  avenue  lined  with  fruit  trees,  cut  through  the  forest 
trees  within  his  own  inclosures.  Along  this  he  came,  lead- 
ing his  horses,  fresh  from  their  pasture. 

"  I've  brought  up  the  horses,  Ailsie,"  said  he,  addressing 
his  wife. 

"  I  see  you  have ;  you  wont  go  on  the  bay,  then  ?" 

"  No  ;  the  gentlemen  from  town  called  to  me  as  I  was 
fencing,  over  in  high  way  lot,  to  say  they  could  not  go  out 
fishing  to  day.  The  lady  was  taken  suddenly  ill  in  the  car- 
riage a  little  way  back  ;  she  was  lying  back  on  the  seat  as 
white  as  a  sheet,  poor  thing.  They've  drove  on  to  the 
Colonel's,  to  wait  for  her  to  revive  a  little.  The  poor  little 
fellow  has  changed  amazingly  since  he  was  down  last  week — 
it  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  him.  Well,  I  believe,  Ailsie," 
said  he,  looking  up  a  little  dubiously  at  the  sun,  "I  believe 
I'd  better  go  to  Gosport." 

"  It  is  late  in  the  day,  I'm  afraid,  Isaac,  to  go  so  far." 

"  Well,  yes,  'tis  rather  late,  but  the  days  are  long,  and  it 
is  not  very  hot — the  horses  are  able  and  fresh.  I  guess  I'll 

go." 

There  was  a  painful  thought  stirring  at  the  heart  of  both, 
to  which  neither  gave  utterance,  but  both  kept  busy  with 
the  needful  preparations,  and  tried  to  speak  cheerfully  for 
the  support  of  the  other.  But  it  would  not  do,  and  the 
tears  began  to  roll  in  big  drops  down  the  cheeks  of  the 
wife  ;  but  she  walked  quietly  into  her  little  bed-room  and 
wiped  them  away.  With  one  brief  prayer  for  composure, 
she  returned  to  her  occupation,  and  set  out  her  table  to 


SEA-SPRAT.  248 

prepare  her  hurried  dinner,  while  her  husband  made  ready 
his  wagon,  and  collected  the  articles  which  he  designed  for 
market. 

"  You  must  tell  me  what  you  want,  Ailsie,  and  don't 
forget  anything,  for  it  will  be  some  time  before  I  go 
again." 

"I  don't  want  anything  myself,  but  don't  forget  the  cloth 
for  the  boys'  fall  jackets ;  the  tailoress  can  come  next  week 
to  make  them.  I  can't  be  about  to  attend  to  it  just  when 
they  are  needed,  if  I  am  spared  to  be  here  at  all ;  for  you 
know,  Austin,  what  must  be  before  then." 

"  Better  two  more  than  one  less,  Ailsie,"  replied  Austin, 
with  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  speak  cheerfully ;  for  the 
thought  suggested  by  the  unlucky  expression  was  a  bitter 
one,  and  perhaps  reminded  his  pale  wife  of  another  want, 
for  she  spoke  abruptly  : 

"  1  had  liked  to  have  forgot — I  wish  you  would  bring  me 
some  broad,  black  ribbon,  for  the  boys'  Sunday  hats.  We 
have  not  been  mentioned,  you  know,"  continued  she,  strug- 
gling for  composure  ;  then  resuming  sadly, — "  if  it  is  not 
done  next  Sunday,  I  don't  know  when  it  will  be,"  and  the 
tears  flowed  now  without  any  attempt  to  restrain  them. 

Ah,  that  good,  old,  time-honored  custom,  sanctified  and 
sanctioned  by  those  long  gone  before  them,  of  coming,  in 
the  deep  sorrow  of  trusting  faith,  to  the  house  of  God,  and 
asking,  openly  and  in  their  own  names,  the  prayers  of  His 
people  for  a  blessing  on  the  grief  that  is  crushing  them. 
How  could  they  dream  of  neglecting  it  ?  They  could  not, 
of  course.  It  was  the  last  sad  duty  attendant  on  loss  of 
kindred,  which  they  had  to  perform. 

"  I  got  down  the  boat  this  morning  before  I  went  to 
work,  so  as  to  have  all  ready  in  case  they  come  ;  she  wont 


244  -SEA-SPRAY. 

take  any  hurt  if  I  let  her  lie  till  evening.  Another  thing, 
— the  blanket  you  gave  me  to  cushion  the  seat  for  the  sick 
boy,  somehow  got  dragged  in  the  water,  and  I  left  it  spread 
out  on  the  thwarts  to  dry  :  you  may  as  well  send  Jim  after 
it,  when  he  gets  home  from  school.  I  don't  like  leaving  you 
here  alone,  Ailsie ;  shan't  I  stop  and  send  Jim  home  as  I  go 
along,  or  some  of  the  folks  from  Belden's?"  asked  Austin, 
affectionately. 

"  No,"  replied  Ailsie,  "  I  don't  mind  being  alone,  now-a- 
days." 

There  was  not  much  in  the  words,  but  they  conveyed 
a  world  of  meaning  to  the  heart  that  ached  in  unison  with 
hers.  So  he  got  into  his  wagon,  and  silently  gathered  up 
the  reins. 

"  Father,  father  !  bring  me  a  knife  ?"  shouted  Steenie 
from  the  fence,  through  which  he  was  watching  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  Steenie,  knives  don't  grow  in  the 
lots." 

"  But  potatoes  do,  and  they'll  buy  one.  Bring  me  a 
knife,"  repeated  Steenie,  resolutely. 

"  Well,  well,  we'll  see.  Be  a  good  boy,  Steenie,  and 
take  good  care  of  mother."  And  Austin  drove  away. 

He  looked  back  as  he  passed  through  the  gate  communi- 
cating with  the  highway,  and  thought  of  the  golden-haired 
girl,  (his  only  one,)  who,  when  he  went  last  the  same  weary 
way,  had  rode  down  with  him,  to  open  the  gate  and  close  it 
again  after  him.  There  was  none  to  witness  his  tears 
now,  but  He  who  alone  could  dry  them ;  and  the  strong 
man  bent  himself  down  in  his  grief,  and  the  tears  came 
thick  and  blinding.  He  paused  a  brief  space  to  give  his 
heart  relief,  then  closed  the  gate  himself,  and  went  calmly 
on  his  way. 


SEA-SPRAY  245 

Ailsle  sat  down  with  her  elbow  in  the  sill  of  the  window, 
but  the  prospect  before  her  was  not  one  to  soothe  or  cheer 
her  just  then.  At  a  short  distance  from  the  house  lay 
the  little  picketed  inclosure,  within  which  slept  the  races 
which  had  preceded  them.  Under  the  drooping  branches, 
which  her  own  hands  had  planted  to  shelter  it,  gleamed 
the  little  white  tablet  which  marked  where  the  firstling  of 
their  flock,  in  its  early  infancy,  had  been  laid  to  rest,  and 
by  its  side  the  newly  cut  turf  of  another  mound  spoke  of 
a  fresher  sorrow. 

"  Steenie,  Steenie,  you  must  not  have,  that;  you  will 
spoil  it." 

Steenie  sat  on  the  floor  amusing  himself  with  a  pretty 
little  accordion,  the  tones  of  which  had  aroused  his  mother 
from  her  painful  reverie. 

"  Jim  said  I  might  play  on  it,"  cried  Steenie,  resolutely 
withholding  the  toy. 

"  But  he  only  lent  it  to  you,  Steenie.  It  is  very  naughty 
to  cry  because  I  take  it  away.  You  know,  Steenie,  mother 
don't  let  you  have  anything  if  you  cry  for  it." 

Steenie  dried  his  tears  with  his  apron,  and  sought  his 
amusement  elsewhere.  Ailsie  was  alone  in  her  little  bed- 
room, and  her  heart  was  full.  She  drew  a  low  seat  to  the 
side  of  the  bed,  and  leaning  her  forehead  against  the  pil- 
low, she  let  the  long  pent  up  sorrow  have  way.  Long  and 
bitterly  she  wept :  but  there  was  no  murmuring  mingled 
with  her  grief,  for  she  was  a  devout  and  adoring  believer, 
and  though  wanting  in  that  stern,  martyr-like  spirit 
which  was  the  characterizing  trait  in  her  husband's  reli- 
gious faith,  she  bowed  to  the  hand  that  had  afflicted,  with 
childlike  unquestioning  submission. 

<4  Mother,  mother,"  cried   Steenie,  with  a  gleeful  happy 


246  SEA-SPRAY. 

tone,  "  my  corn  has  spindled,"  and  he  rushed  into  the  room. 
But  the  bounding  step  was  stayed  ;  the  merry  laugh  was 
hushed ;  he  heard  his  mother's  sobs,  and,  child  as  he  was, 
he  comprehended  it  all.  Silently  advancing  to  her  side,  he 
passed  his  little  arm  caressingly  over  her  shoulder,  and 
laid  his  glowing  cheek  to  hers.  The  mother  drew  him  to 
her  bosom,  and  her  tears  fell  thick  and  fast  over  the  clus- 
tering locks  of  the  boy. 

"  Mother,"  said  he  at  length,  "  did  not  you  want  God 
should  have  our  Lucy  ?" 

"  Oh,  Steenie,"  groaned  the  mother. 

"  Did  He  only  lend  her  to  you,  mother  ?  and  will  He 
say  you  are  naughty  to  cry  because  He's  takened  her 
away  ?" 

Alas,  for  the  wavering  mother !  how  soon  and  how  re- 
provingly had  her  arguments  recoiled  upon  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  mother.  May-be  God  will  let  you  have 
her  again  sometime,  if  you  are  good." 

"  No,  Steenie,  Lucy  will  never  come  back  any  more." 
And  the  mother  gave  way  to  a  fresh  burst  of  grief. 

Steenie  tried  one  more  argument — "  But,  mother,  did 
not  father  say  you  might  go  to  her  ?  Why  don't  you  go  ?" 

Ailsie  rose  instantly  up,  and  taking  the  child  by  the 
hand,  she  went  calmly  forth  to  her  household  duties,  say- 
ing to  herself — 

"  I  will  not  weep — why  should  I  ?  Can  I  bring  her  back 
again  ?  I  shall  go  to  her,  but  she  shall  not  return  to  me." 

After  adjusting  such  little  matters  about  the  apartment 
as  needed  her  care,  Ailsie  drew  her  little  work-table  to  the 
window,  and  sat  down  to  sew.  Steenie  went  out  to  play 
and  gather  flowers  in  the  yard.  Presently  he  came  in,  and 
climbing  on  the  back  of  his  mother's  chair,  inserted  a 


SEA-SPRAT.  247 

bunch  of  pinks  between  the  teeth  of  her  comb,  drawing 
the  heads  through  the  braids  of  her  hair,  saying  as  he 
finished — 

"  Let  them  be,  mother — they  look  so  pretty." 

Again  the  boy  betook  himself  to  his  sports,  and  his 
mother  went  busily  on  with  her  work,  sewing  on  the  deli- 
cate snowy  braid  to  the  bright  orange  fabric  which  she 
was  fashioning  in  tiny  garments  for  the  unborn  wearer.  A 
shadow  darkened  the  doorway,  and  a  trim,  tidy-looking 
young  girl  entered  the  room. 

'*  All  alone,  Aunt  Ailsie?  I  thought  you  would  be,  and 
I  ran  down  for  that  reason,"  said  the  girl,  depositing  her 
neat  sun-bonnet  on  the  bed,  and  sitting  down  by  her  aunt. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you^  Anna,  it  is  so  still  here.  But 
you  look  pale,  child ;  are  you  not  well  ?"  said  Ailsie,  anx- 
iously, for  Anna  was  the  motherless  child  of  a  dear  sister, 
and  she  felt  a  mother's  interest  in  all  that  affected  her. 

"  Yes,  1  am  very  well,  but  we  all  have  our  troubles,  and 
sometimes  I  fancy  I  have  mine,"  said  she,  sadly. 

Attired  in  her  neat  gingham  dress,  with  simple  collar 
and  wristbands  of  spotless  linen,  her  hair  parted  plainly 
over  her  forehead,  she  could  not  be  wholly  unattractive, 
she  was  so  perfectly  neat  in  her  person,  and  so  unaffectingly 
simple  in  speech  and  manner.  There  was  an  air  of  frank, 
earnest  truthfulness  in  her  open,  fearless  gray  eye,  that 
redeemed  the  otherwise  plain  face,  which,  without  any 
pretensions  to  beauty,  was  still  pleasant  and  refreshing  to 
look  upon. 

"  Is  everything  pleasant  at  home,  Anna  ?  and  do  you  get 
along  pleasantly  with  father's  new  wife  ?" 

Ailsie  could  not  comprehend  what  could  be  troubling 
her  sensible,  practical  niece,  unless  it  might  be  family 
jars,  so  she  put  her  question  at  random. 


248  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Yes,  all  is  right  at  home.  Mother  is  all  that  a  step- 
mother can  be,  and  she  says  I  must  have  some  nice  new 
dresses,  and  go  away  and  make  a  long  visit.  Pa  says  I 
must  stay  at  home  and  keep  occupied,  and  discharge  all 
my  duties  cheerfully  ;  and  I  think  father's  right :  as  though 
the  heart  would  not  ache  just  as  much  under  a  fine  dress. 
It  will  ache  in  thinking  anywhere  and  under  any  garment. 
I'd  rather  be  at  home." 

"  The  heart-ache,  dear  child !  what  on  earth  has  your 
heart  got  to  ache  about?"  asked  Ailsie,  earnestly. 

"  Well,  I  did  not  tell  you,  aunt,  because  I  thought  such 
trouble  as  mine  was  so  small,  compared  with  yours,  and  I 
hated  to  plague  you  with  it.  Do  you  know  that  Harry 
Marvin  has  shipped  for  a  three  years'  voyage,  and  will 
sail  in  a  week  or  two  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not,  Anna.  What  has  he  done  that  for  ? 
He  has  a  good  trade,  and  a  fine  farm,  and  no  earthly  in- 
cumbrance.  Why  should  he  go  to  sea  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  aunt,  father  says  he  must  not  come  to 
see  me  any  more,  and  the  thing  has  been  understood  and 
encouraged  so  long,  that  to  break  it  off  now  comes  hard  on 
us  both.  Father  did  not  use  to  object ;  but  this  business 
about  Montauk  has  made  a  great  deal  of  bad  feeling,  you 
know  ;  and,  somehow,  Harry  got  mixed  up  in  it,  without 
caring  much  about  it  at  first,  either ;  but  when  they  began 
to  grow  in  earnest  about  it,  and  make  a  great  fuss,  Harry 
is  high-tempered  and  hasty,  and  he  took  sides  against  the 
proprietors,  though  he  says  he  sees  now  that  he  was  wrong, 
and  went  too  far.  But  father  can't  get  over  it.  He  says 
it  was  an  unprincipled,  wicked  undertaking,  and  he  wont 
let  me  hold  any  such  terms  with  anybody  that  had  any 
hand  in  it.  So  that's  all  about  it.  I  am  troubled  now, 
and  disappointed,  but  I  shall  get  over  it  in  time." 


SEA-SPRAY.  249 

"  I  dare  say  you  will,  Anna.  Three  years  will  soon  pass 
away,  and  when  he  comes  back  it  will  all  be  put  right. 
You  will  be  your  own  mistress,  then,  Anna." 

"  There's  time  for  a  great  many  things  to  happen  in 
three  years,  Aunt  Ailsie ;  but  I  hope  breaking  the  Fifth 
Commandment  is  not  among  the  things  that  will  happen  to 
me.  I  shall  obey  my  father — in  my  actions  I  certainly  shall, 
and  in  my  feelings  as  soon  as  1  can  ;  but  you  don't  know, 
Aunt  Ailsie,  how  it  distresses  me  that  I  can't  keep  my 
thoughts  away  from  it  when  I  go  to  meeting.  It  is  so  long 
that  I  have  been  used  to  expecting  Harry  to  come  for  me, 
and  go  home  with  me,  that  it  don't  seem  like  the  same  thing 
now  ;  and  I  can't  hear  for  thinking  of  it ;  and  I  can't  sing, 
and  Harry  not  holding  the  book ;  and  it  has  taken  the 
place  of  everything  holy  in  my  heart ;  and  I  am  so  bad  and 
wicked,  I  can't  keep  it  out  of  my  prayers,  even.  Oh, 
Aunt  Ailsie,  that  is  the  greatest  trial  of  all." 

"  You  must  not  feel  so,  Anna.  It  is  not  strange  at  all 
that  you  feel  unhappy.  It  is  very  hard  to  break  away 
from  an  attachment  you  have  had  strengthening  in  your 
heart  for  years.  But,  dear  child,  why  should  you  seek  to 
keep  it  out  of  your  prayers  ?  What  should  make  the  bur- 
den of  our  prayers,  if  not  the  sorrow  with  which  our  hearts 
are  heavy.  Where  should  we  carry  our  troubles,  if  not  to 
God  ?  Oh,  Anna,  what  should  I  do,  if  I  could  not  do  that. 
Be  comforted,  child.  If  there  is  anybody  wicked  in  this 
thing,  I  don't  think  it  is  you,"  said  Ailsie,  who  could 
not  see  as  favorably  for  her  sister's  husband  as  for  her 
sister's  child. 

"  O,  I  don't  blame  father,"  interposed  Anna.  "  I  think,  as 
things  are,  he  is  right.  I  would  not  think  otherwise  for  the 

11 


250  SEA-SPRAY 

world.     I  shall  get  along  with  it.     I  don't  believe  in  dying 
for  love,  and  never  did.     But  T  must  go." 

"  Go  ?"  said  Ailsie ;  "  why  must  you  go  so  early  ?  Stay 
and  get  tea,  can't  you  ?" 

"  No.  I  promised  to  go  abroad  with  mother.  She's 
worried  and  disturbed  on  my  account.  So  I  must  go 
with  her.  Don't  be  fretting  yourself  about  me.  I  ain't 
killed." 

So,  with  a  smile  on  her  lip,  and  tears  gathering  in  her 
eyes,  the  simple-minded,  conscientious  girl  departed. 

The  long  summer  day  was  wearing  toward  mid-after- 
noon, and  Jim  came  earlier  than  usual  from  school,  bring- 
ing with  him  a  school-mate  some  two  or  three  years  his 
senior — a  good-natured,  affectionate,  but  not  very  scrupu- 
lous boy,  the  grandson  of  not  particularly  reputable  people, 
living  at  a  short  distance  across  the  fields. 

Jim  came  in  to  ask  permission  to  go  with  Lyman 
Brown  to  pick  blackberries  in  the  field  where  the  cows 
were  at  pasture.  No  objections  being  made,  he  took  his 
basket  to  go,  when  Steenie  came  with  eager  petitions  for 
leave  to  accompany  him. 

"  Let  him  go,  mother,  wont  you  ?"  interceded  Jim. 
"  'Tain't  far ;  and  if  he  gets  tired,  Lyme  and  I  can  carry 
him,  poor  little  pug.  He's  so  lonesome  here  all  day,  with 
nobody  to  play  with  him." 

There  was  force  in  Jim's  argument,  and  Steenie  was  per- 
mitted to  go ;  Jim  being  instructed  to  go  to  the  boat  and 
bring  home  the  blanket.  So  they  went  laughing  away, 
and  the  mother  was  left  again  alone  with  her  busy  remem- 
brances. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ABSORBED  in  her  own  thoughts,  Ailsie  sat  busily  plying 
her  needle,  till  the  voice  of  the  old  clock  in  the  corner 
warned  her  that  it  was  time  to  rise,  and  prepare  her  even- 
ing meal,  against  the  return  of  her  husband  and  the  young 
man  who  constituted  "  one  of  the  family,"  though  a  hired 
laborer  in  the  field.  The  sun  was  near  its  setting,  when 
Sam  Listen  came  in  from  the  field,  and  quietly  placing  his 
hoe  in  its  accustomed  place,  took  the  milk  pails,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  yard,  from  whence  he  immediately  returned 
inquiring,  with  an  air  of  vexation  : 

"  What's  the  racket  with  Jim,  that  he  hasn't  fetched  the 
cows  at  this  time  o'  day  ?" 

"  Sure  enough !  why  it's  time  long  ago,  but  I  didn't  think 
of  it.  They  went  away,  Jim  and  Steenie,  with  Lyme 
Brown,  for  there's  a  lecture  in  the  school -house,  and  they 
were  home  early.  They  were  going  blackberrying,  but 
only  in  north-pasture  lot,  and  they  ought  to  have  been 
home  a  good  spell  ago.  And,  I  forgot,  I  did  tell  Jim  to  go 
to  the  boat,  and  bring  home  the  blanket  his  father  carried 
down  this  morning." 

"They  were  going  to  the  boat,  hey ?"  exclaimed  Sam, 
hastily  catching  up  his  hat,  which  he  had  flung  down  on  his 
entrance,  behind  the  door. 


252  SKA-SPRAT. 

"  You  don't  think  they  would  get  into  any  danger, 
Sam  ?"  the  first  feeling  of  alarm  now  awakened  in  her 
heart. 

"  They'd  get  into  anything,  if  Beech  Brown  was  with 
them.  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  cows,  and  while  I'm  so  near 
I'll  go  on  to  Dick's,  and  hurry  home  the  boys.  I  dare  say 
they  are  there." 

Sam  started  off  with  more  anxiety  than  he  cared  to  be- 
tray, and  the  mother  went  on  with  her  work,  uneasy  a  lit- 
tle, but  not  distressed. 

Sam  proceeded  to  "the  pasture  ;  the  cows  were  lowing  at 
the  bars,  but  the  boys  were  not  there. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Sam  to  himself,  as  he  dropped  the 
bars  for  the  gentle,  timid  creatures  to  pass  through ;  but  he 
had  no  time  to  give  them  the  accustomed  pat  between  the 
horns,  or  to  meet  the  mute  look  of  recognition  which 
greeted  the  familar  hand  that  milked  and  tended  them,  from 
those  great  melancholy  eyes ;  so  he  replaced  the  bars  hur- 
riedly, and  ran  on. 

The  outside  door  of  Dick  Brown's  little  weather-stained 
dwelling  as  usual  stood  wide  open,  swung  back  on  its 
hinges  against  the  front  of  the  house ;  so  Sam  stepped  in. 

A  snuffling,  drawling,  sleepy  voice  greeted  him  with  : 

"  'S  that  you,  Dick  ?  hev  you  got  the  gin  ?" 

"  No,  no,'taint  Dick,  nor  gin.  What !  over  the  bay,  Judy?" 

"  La !  you,  Sam !  No,  I  aint  over  no  bay  ;  but  Mary, 
she's  bin  a  baking,  and  I  sot  out  to  kinder  give  her  a  lift, 
and  I  got  sorter  overdid,  so  I  thought  I'd  jest  lop  down,  and 
take  a  bit  of  a  cat-nap, — oh,  sudsy  me  !" 

"  Well,  well,  Judy,  never  mind  that, — where's  Beech  ?" 

"  What  do  you  want  on  him  ?" 

"Nothing,  but  to  know  where  he  is.  Can  you  tell  any- 
thing about  him  ?" 


SEA-SPRAY.  253 

"  I  guess  he  aint  fud  off,  for  I  told  him  not  to  go  no  var- 
sal  wheres  ;  I  guess  I  kin  raise  him." 

"  When  was  he  here  ?  how  long  ago  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  I've  kinder  been  in  a  doze,  and  I've  lost 
the  run  o'  time,"  said  Judy,  rolling  herself  up  on  the  bed, 
and  beginning  to  make  clumsy  efforts  to  rise. 

With  some  exertion,  she  got  her  short,  bloated  limbs  over 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  began  to  introduce  her  feet,  re- 
sembling the  oblong  bran  cushions  with  which  tasteful 
housekeepers  are  wont  to  decorate  their  dressing  tables, 
into  a  pair  of  huge  list  slippers,  turned  in  and  trod  down  at 
the  heel,  to  facilitate  the  process,  proceeding  at  the  same 
time  to  pin  up  her  dress,  ejecting  pin  after  pin  at  the  corner 
of  her  mouth,  in  a  manner  not  to  be  attempted  by  the  un- 
initiated. 

This  business  effected,  Judy  lifted  her  huge  body,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  chairs  and  table,  hitched  it  along  to 
the  door ;  then  filling  her  lungs  to  their  utmost  capacity, 
she  sent  forth  the  call,  "  Lyman  Beecher,"  holding  on  to 
the  last  syllable  with  a  long  quavering  trill,  which  "Jenny" 
would  have  tried  in  vain  to  equal ;  but  the  echoes  died 
away  over  wood  and  water,  and  no  answering  shout  re- 
vealed his  whereabouts.  Again  she  sent  forth  the  summons, 
but  with  no  better  success. 

"  That'll  do,  Judy,  that'll  do ;  such  a  yell  as  that  might 
scare  up  old  priest  Beecher,  from  Boston ;  and  it  will  be  long 
enough  before  you'll  see  another  scale,  if  he  once  gets  his 
hook  in  the  bay." 

"  Ah,"  said  Judy,  sagaciously  rolling  her  head,  "  I  know 
him  of  old — he  was  death  on  fish  and  clams  ;  our  Lyme 
never'll  hold  a  candle  to  him  for  that.  But  I  wish  Lyme 
was  here,  for  the  old  man's  gone  to  town,  and  he  gen'ly 


254  SEA-SPRAT. 

comes  home  sort  o'  so-so.  Lyme  need  to  be  here  to  on- 
tackle  the  mare." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  to  the  shore.  If  the  boys  come,  Judy,  do 
send  them  home  ;  for  it's  late,  and  their  mother  will  be  un- 
easy." 

Sam  started  off  on  the  run,  and  a  few  minutes  brought 
him  to  the  place  where  Isaac  Austin  had  built  his  snug  boat- 
house.  Neither  boat  nor  boys  were  there.  The  boat-house 
was  open,  and  all.the  oars  were  in  their  places,  but  no  ves- 
tige of  the  boat.  The  empty  baskets  were  hung  on  the 
water  fence,  giving  evidence  that  they  had  come  first  to  the 
shore,  and  had  been  some  hours  there. 

Sam  strained  his  eager  eyes  over  the  bay,  but  darkness 
was  on  the  waters,  and  he  could  see  but  a  short  distance. 
Sam  was  horror-struck, — but  there  was  no  time  to  waste 
in  conjectures ;  so  he  ran  back,  even  faster  than  he  came 
down,  and  passing  through  the  room  in  which  Judy  was 
again  dozing,  he  opened  the  door  of  the  back  apartment. 
The  supper  was  waiting  Dick's  arrival,  and  a  pleasant,  rosy 
looking  girl  was  winding  yarn  from  two  chairs,  which  she 
had  placed  in  the  doorway  for  the  benefit  of  the  fading 
light,  singing,  the  while,  in  a  clear,  strong,  but  uncultivated 
voice,  a  favorite  Methodist  hymn. 

"  Oh,  there'll  be  mourning,  mourning,  mourning,"  rose 
loud  on  Sam's  ears  as  he  stepped  in,  pale  and  breathless, 
with  terror  and  speed. 

"  Oh,  Mary  !  I  wish  you  had  been  singing  anything  but 
that ;  it  sounds  awful  now,"  said  Sam,  dropping  on  a 
chair,  and  wiping  the  heavy  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"  What  has  come  over  you.  What  is  the  matter,  Sam  ?" 
said  Mary,  dropping  her  ball,  which  rolled  unheeded  out 
of  the  door.  Sam's  tale  was  soon  told,  poor  Mary  listening 
in  heart-struck  dismay,  and  asking,  as  he  ended  : 


SEA-SPRAT.  255 

"  What  has  become  of  them,  Sam  ?" 

"The  Lord  knows,  Mary,  I  don't.  Sunk  in  deep  water 
I'm  afraid." 

Mary  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  groaned. 

"  1  hate  to  leave  you,  Mary  ;  but  Miss  Austin's  all  stark 
living  alone,  and  I  must  go  back.  What  will  you  do, 
Mary,  and  Granny  so  bad  off?  but  I  must  go." 

"  Run  up  to  the  Deacon's,  Sam  ;  you  will  find  Anna  and 
her  mother  there,  and  they  will  go  to  Ailsie's." 

"  And  you,  Mary  ?" 

"  Go,  Sam,  do.  I  can  take  care  of  myself  till  Granfer 
comes." 

"  And  he'll  come  in  no  way  to  be  any  company  or  com- 
fort for  you,  Mary." 

"  Never  mind  me,  Sam.     I  am  used  to  it." 

So  Sam  ran  off  again,  and  soon  told  his  sad  errand  to 
the  little  party  at  the  Deacon's.  Without  a  question  or  a 
word  Anna  flew  rapidly  along  the  fields,  and  soon  reached 
the  residence  she  had  left  so  recently,  fancying  that  she, 
too,  knew  something  of  trouble,  but  reproaching  herself 
now  that  she  could  have  repined. 

Ailsie  stood  in  the  doorway,  by  this  time  trembling  and 
fearfully  alarmed.  As  Anna  came  up  bare-headed  and 
breathless,  she  exclaimed,  in  terror : 

"What  is  it,  Anna  ?     Anna,  what  is  it  ?" 

Anna  put  her  arm  tenderly  around  her,  and  leading  her 
back  to  the  kitchen,  placed  her  in  a  chair,  and  sat  down 
beside  her. 

"  Tell  me,  Anna,  is  it  the  boys  ?  Is  it  Isaac  ?  who  ?  What 
is  it  ?  It  is  some  terrible  blow.  Say,  where  doesit  fall  ?" 

"  Be  composed,  Aunt  Ailsie.  I  hope  we  are  scared 
without  cause.  I  dare  say  they  will  be  found  safe,"  said 
Anna,  expressing  more  courage  than  she  felt. 


256  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  It's  the  boat,"  said  Ailsie,  springing  up  with  a  bound. 
"  I  see  it  all  now !  I  remember  how  Sam  started  off  when 
I  mentioned  it.  And  I  sent  them  myself,  my  poor,  precious 
boys." 

Ailsie  moved  frantically  about  the  apartment,  wringing 
her  hands  in  her  despair,  while  Anna  sought  in  vain  to 
soothe  or  restrain  her.  Meanwhile  Sam  had  rallied  the 
neighbors,  and  men,  women  and  children  were  hallooing  in 
the  woods,  and  shouting  in  all  directions  along  the  shore. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  Aunt  Ailsie 
does  take  on  so,  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do,"  said 
Anna,  as  her  stepmother,  Mrs.  Belden,  came  in. 

Mrs.  Belden  was  an  affectionate,  kind-hearted  woman — 
decided  and  self-relying,  and  holding  great  influence  over 
her  afflicted,  unassuming  kinswoman.  She  sat  down,  and 
persuading  Ailsie  to  sit  by  her,  she  succeeded  in  some 
measure  in  calming  and  supporting  her,  using  considerable 
prevarication,  and  twisting  round  truth  more  than  her  con- 
science would  have  sanctioned  under  other  circumstances, 
in  the  hope  of  allaying  the  fearful  agitation  which  was 
shaking  the  frame  of  the  tortured  woman. 

"  Why,  you  know,  Ailsie,  it  is  nothing  uncommon  for 
boys  to  go  farther  than  they  think  for,  or  to  take  a  wrong 
path,  or  miss  their  way  in  the  woods." 

"  But  the  boat,  Sally,  the  boat,— where  is  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  is  safe.  Lyme  Brown  can  work  a 
boat  almost  as  well  as  Isaac.  1  on't  give  them  up  so 
easily,"  said  the  kind  woman,  without  believing  herself 
one  word  she  was  saying,  for  she  knew  they  had  neither 
paddle  nor  oar,  and  that  Lyman,  if  he  had  hardihood  in  an 
emergency,  had  not  skill.  However,  she  comforted  her 
listener  as  well  as  she  could,  and  left  the  issue  to  time. 


SEA-SPRAY.  257 

One  after  another  the  messengers  returned  with  their 
disheartening  report — "  no  trace  of  them."  But  Sam  and 
Anna  met  them  at  the  door,  and  sent  them  silently  away, 
that  Ailsie  might  not  hear.  Kind  hands  assisted  Sam  in 
the  out-of-doors  duties,  and  neighbors  and  friends  awaited 
the  arrival  of  Austin,  to  assist  and  relieve  him  of  such  cares 
as  others  might  assume.  Alas  !  who  among  them  had  power 
to  lift  the  load  from  his  heart  ? 

Austin  drew  near  his  home,  seeking  to  banish  the  sad 
recollections  of  his  last  return  from  a  similar  mission,  by 
picturing  to  himself  the  sweet  smiling  faces  and  fond  hearts 
that  awaited  him. 

He  smiled  within  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the  joy  of 
Steenie  over  his  bright  new  knife,  and  the  cairn  satisfaction 
of  Jim,  as  he  cut  the  string  which  bound  the  pretty  volumes 
he  had  so  long  coveted. 

He  wondered  at  the  silence  that  hung  so  deep  and 
solemn  over  his  premises,  and  that  Jim  had  not,  as  usual, 
in  his  impatience,  stood  at  the  ready-opened  gate,  to  jump 
into  the  wagon  and  ride  up  with  him. 

But  he  drove  on.  An  unaccustomed  hand  was  at  his 
horses'  heads,  and  a  distant  neighbor  silently  took  the 
reins  from  his  hands.  The  outer  door  stood  open,  and 
many  forms  passed  back  and  forth,  as  if  busy  in  his  home, 
while  groups  stood  back  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  as  if  in 
earnest  and  whispered  discourse.  What  did  it  mean  ? 
What  had  called,  at  this  hour,  such  a  concourse  of  people 
about  his  secluded  and  quiet  abode  ?  He  had  but  one 
thought — Ailsie  was  suddenly  ill ;  but  the  looks  which 
shrunk  from  meeting  his,  were  not  anxious,  but  de- 
spairing. 

"  Was  she  dead  ?     Would  nobody  speak  ?" 

11* 


SEA-SPRAY. 

Anna  saw  that  the  tale  must  be  told,  and,  closing  the 
door  of  the  room  in  which  Ailsie  was  sitting,  she  came  for- 
ward tremblingly,  extending  her  hand  to  meet  him,  burst- 
ing into  floods  of  tears  as  she  spoke  : 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Austin  !" 

"  What  has  happened,  Annie  ?  I  feel  it  is  no  small 
thing  to  call  so  many  around  us.  Tell  me,  child  ?" 

"  The  boys,  uncle, — the  boat !" 

"  Gone  ?"  groaned  Austin. 

"  Gone  !"  replied  Anna. 

"What!— both?" 

«  Both,  uncle." 

"  And  Ailsie  ?" 

"  Hoping  still — not  knowing  the  worst." 

Isaac  Austin  staggered  to  a  chair,  and,  placing  both 
hands  on  the  back,  leaned  heavily  over  it. 

The  struggle  in  that  father's  heart,  man  might  not  read  ; 
but  the  aid  he  invoked  in  that  bitter  hour  was  not  denied 
him.6  He  silently  listened  to  all  that  could  be  told  him  ; 
then,  nerving  hirrself  to  bear  it,  he  quietly  opened  the 
door,  passed  into  the  inner  room,  and  stood  before  his 
wife. 

"Ailsie,  we  must  bear  it.  It  is  hard — hard — but  we 
must  bear  it." 

"Isaac! — Isaac!  is  there  no  hope? — none? — that  you 
speak  only  of  bearing.  Is  there  no  hope  ? — no  hope  ?" 

"None — none,  Ailsie,  but  in  God." 

Ailsie  rose,  and  advanced  towards  her  husband. 

"  Do  you  say,  Isaac  Austin,  that  we  must  submit  to  this, 
when  God  can  help,  if  He  would  ?" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  stern,  wild  energy.  Then 
Ailsie  sat  down  in  her  chair,  and  was  still. 


SEA-SPRAY.  259 

•  It  was  nine  o'clock.  The  moon  had  risen  an  hour  ago, 
and  the  dwellers  along  the  shore  had  manned  a  boat  and 
rowed  about  the  still  waters  of  the  bay,  but  not  a  token 
was  found  to  guide  them  ;  and  still  they  pulled  the  oars, 
and  looked  hopelessly  for  the  mourned  and  missing  boys. 

Isaac  Austin  paced  the  room  in  silence,  till  Anna  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  called  his  attention  to  Ailsie.  He 
turned  in  his  walk  and  looked  on  his  wife  ;  then  called,  in 
his  alarm,  as  he  bent  over  her,  "  Ailsie  ! — Ailsie !" 

A  choking  sob  rose  in  her  throat,  but  she  did  not  reply. 
A  new  terror  had  grappled  his  heart-strings. 

"  Was  this,  indeed,  so  ?  Was  the  fire  on  his  hearth  to 
be  utterly  quenched  ?  Was  the  light  of  his  household  to  be 
wholly  extinguished  ?" 

This  was  no  overwrought  hysterical  affection.  Ailsie 
was  not  constituted,  mentally  or  physically,  for  high  ner- 
vous excitement.  She  was  made  for  calm,  passive,  patient 
endurance.  What,  then,  was  this  ?•  Was  it  death  ? 

She  was  still  and  cold;  her  eye  fixed  and  staring,  yet 
retaining  her  consciousness  of  suffering.  The  big  drops 
of  agony  stood  on  her  death-cold  brow  ;  her  very  heart- 
strings straitened  under  the  grasp  of  a  sorrow  too  mighty 
for  emotion. 

Isaac  Austin  dropped  on  his  knees  before  his  wife,  and 
took  her  cold  hands  in  his,  while  his  words  came  forth 

Mb 

weakly  and  brokenly : 

" '  If  it  be  possible,  0  Father,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me. 

Nevertheless '  " 

He  stopped.     Could  he — he,  the  man  whose  determined 

'mfaltering  trust  had  never  been  shaken — who,  with 

•*nd  sustaining  faith  of  the  prophets  of  old,  had 

promises — could  he  now,  "  nevertheless"-:- 


260  SEA-SPRAY. 

Again !  Could  he — he  who,  the  chosen  mouth-piece  in  their 
little  neighborhood  conventicles,  could  cry  mightily  unto 
the  Lord,  and  who,  with  the  fervid  outpourings  of  impor- 
tunate pleadings,  like  Jacob,  had  wrestled  with  God — 
could  he  say  it  now — "  '  Nevertheless,  not  my  will  but  thine 
be  done  ?'  '  Have  I  received  good  at  the  hands  of  the 
Lord,  and  shall  I  not  receive  evil  also  ?  That  which  Thou 
hast  lent  to  me,  shall  I  not  restore  it  ?  When  Thou  askest 
that  which  Thou  gavest  me,  shall  I  not  render  back  again 
the  things  which  are  thine  own  ?'  Yet,  0  Father !  for  His 
sake,  who,  in  His  superhuman  agony,  sent  up  from  the 
cross  that  terrible  cry,  '  Eli,  Eli,  Lama,  Sabacthani !'  have 
mercy ! — have  mercy  !  If  it  be  possible  ! — oh,  if  it  be 
possible,  let  me  not  taste  this  bitter  cup  !  '  Nevertheless, 
not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done.'  " 

Yes,  he  could,  and  he  did  say  it,  and  honestly  and  de- 
voutly he  felt  and  he  meant  it.  Though  the  feelings  of 
the  father  were  rising  and  striving,  with  their  whelming 
waves,  to  drown  out  the  faith  of  the  Christian,  even  now, 
in  the  o'ermastering  agony  of  an  hour  like  this,  when  his 
heart  was  quivering  in  every  fibre,  from  the  wrench  that 
had  riven  it,  he  could  say,  weakly  and  tremblingly,  it 
is  true,  but  humbly  and  trustingly  still,  ''  Thy  will  be 
done." 

Isaac  Austin  rose  from  his  kneeling  posture,  his  swart 
brow  streaming  with  the  dews  wrung  from  his  heart's 
agony,  and  the  heavy  masses  of  his  coal  black  hair  hang- 
ing damp  and  disordered  over  it.  There  was  anguish  in 
his  writhing  features  as  his  glance  fell  on  his  wife,  but  he 
had  laid  her,  in  her  helplessness,  in  the  arms  of  her  Maker. 
He  had  committed  her  to  the  keeping  of  God.  Could  he 
do  aught  more  ? 


SEA-SPBAY.  261 

Meanwhile,  busy  hands  were  applying  restoratives,  bath- 
ing the  head,  and  chafing  the  cold,  helpless  hands,  in  doing 
which  Anna  loosened  the  tresses  of  her  long,  dark  hair, 
and  the  flowers  which  Steenie  had  so  lovingly  twined 
among  the  braids  fell  into  her  lap.  It  was  done.  The 
master-chord  was  touched,  the  torturing  tension  about  the 
heart  gave  way,  the  rigid  muscles  relaxed,  the  strained  and 
stiffened  eye-lid  drooped  heavily,  and  tears,  blessed,  reliev- 
ing tears,  gushed  soothingly  over  the  burning  balls,  and 
she  moaned. 

"  Oh,  they  were  Steenie's  flowers ! — they  were  Steenie's 
flowers  !"  as  her  hand  grasped  the  sweet  floral  keys  which 
had  unlocked  the  flood-gates  of  sorrow  in  his  poor  mother's 
heart,  and  let  the  pent  waters  have  way. 

"  It  was  Steenie's  blessed  little  hand  that  put  them  there, 
Isaac.  Oh,  where  is  that  little  hand  now  ?  And  Jim,  too, 
my  kind,  noble,  affectionate  Jim,  shall  I  see  him  no  more  ? 
Both  gone ! — both  gone,  under  the  cold  waters  !  These 
dear  little  heads  ! — must  I  submit  and  be  still  ?  Will  no- 
body help — help — help?"  shrieked  the  desolate  mother,  as 
she  rushed  recklessly  out  into  the  soft,  still  night,  and 
screamed  forth  the  names  of  her  boys. 

It  was  useless  to  talk  to  her.  What  could  they  say  ? 
Who  could  stand  calmly  talking  of  patience,  and  duty,  and 
submission,  in  cold,  measured,  cant  terms,  to  an  agonized 
mother  stripped  of  her  all  ? 

"  Let  her  have  her  way,  Isaac,"  said  Mrs.  Belden.  "  It 
is  not  in  human  nature  to  stand  such  a  blow  as  this.  Let 
her  exhaust  herself;  it  is  better  so." 

Anna  clung  to  her  Aunt,  and  soon  she  flew  frantically 
back,  and,  casting  herself  into  her  bed,  clasped  her  hands 
forcibly  over  her  brow,  as  if  she  would  crush  out  memory 


262  SEA-SPRAY. 

and  life.  Then  all  the  events  of  the  afternoon  came  back 
upon  her  thoughts,  with  softening,  quieting  influences; 
and,  calling  her  husband  to  her  bed-side,  she  repeated, 
amid  suffocating  sobs,  the  sweet,  innocent  prattle  of 
her  boy. 

"  It  is  right,"  said  Austin,  solemnly  :  "  it  is  all  right, 
Ailsie.  Can't  you  say  with  me  now,  '  Thy  will  be 
done?'" 

"  Not  yet — not  yet.  Don't  ask  me.  I  can't.  Give  me 
time,  Isaac — give  me  time.  Let  the  mother  have  way 
in  my  heart  now.  Let  me  mourn,  and  refuse  to  be  com- 
forted ;  let  me  weep  and  be  wicked,  if  I  will.  I  can't  say 
it  yet.  I  can't  mock  my  Maker  with  words,  while  my 
spirit  rebels.  I  can't  be  submissive.  I  am  not  resigned. 
I  must  murmur  and  mourn,  for  I  am  childless." 

"  For  the  sake  of  that  unborn  blessing,  Ailsie,  you  will 
try  to  be  composed."  -1" 

"  Don't  talk  of  it — don't  think  of  it ; — another  to  be 
taken  away — another  to  love  but  to  lose.  Oh !  there  is  no 
comfort  in  that  thought." 

So  Ailsie  talked  down  her  fearful  and  frenzied  excite- 
ment, and  the  night  dragged  wearily  on. 

"Has  anybody  been  over  to  Dick's?"  asked  Mrs.  Belden. 
"  It  would  be  hard  to  let  them  be  left  alone  at  such  a  time. 
Poor  Lyme  was  a  well-meaning,  good-hearted,  rattle- 
headed boy. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  replied  Anna.  "  Sam  went  over  early, 
and  he  did  not  come  back.  They  went  over  from  the 
Colonel's,  and  Mrs.  Preston  called  here,  just  now,  on  her 
way  home.  She  said  Mary  was  almost  distracted ;  but 
Dick  and  Judy  were  too  stupid  to-night  to  know  much 
about  it.  They  will  suffer,  I  guess,  when  they  wake  up 


SEA-SPRAY.  263 

sober,  for  they  were  very  fond  of  Lyme,  in  their  way. 
But  there  is  little  trouble  with  them  that  rum  wont 
comfort." 

The  voice  of  prayer,  in  broken  accents,  went  up  under 
that  desolate  roof ;  the  wailing  cry  of  the  broken-hearted 
mother  was  hushed  as  she  listened,  and  the  night  wore 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  little  party  were  cordially  welcomed  at  the  pleasant 
mansion  of  Col.  Preston,  the  "  Patroon "  of  that  region. 
Ada,  drooping  and  trembling,  was  conducted  immediately 
to  a  couch  in  a  private  apartment,  and  every  attention 
which  intelligent  and  delicate  kindness  could  prompt,  was 
unremittingly  rendered,  by  her  affectionate  and  gentle  hos- 
tess ;  but  Ada  closed  her  eyes,  and  turned  away  her  head,  in 
timid  and  tearful  rejection  of  all  proffered  restoratives, 
pleading  the  while  in  low,  faint  tones : 

"  All  I  want,  Walter,  is  perfect  quiet ;  let  me  be  alone — 
— all  alone.  Don't  disturb  yourself,  Mrs.  Preston — I  am 
often  so.  Leave  me  to  myself,  and  I  shall  overcome  it 
by  degrees." 

Left  to  herself,  Ada  wrung  her  hands  in  silent  despair, 
locking  them  in  rigid  clasps  and  lifting  them  high,  as  if  she 
would  reach  relief  from  above  ;  then  pressing  them  tightly 
over  her  eyes,  and  pale,  cold  brow,  as  if  she  sought  to  shut 
out  light  from  her  eyes,  and  maddening  thought  from  her 
brain — she  almost  held  her  breath,  in  the  intensity  of  her 
struggle  to  command  herself,  and  compel  back  composure. 

Col.  Preston  hospitably  devoted  himself  to  the  entertain- 
ment and  amusement  of  his  guests,  committing  Ernest 
and  Allen  to  the  attentions  of  his  son,  a  pleasant  boy  of 


SEA-SPEAY.  265 

their  own  age,  who  gleefully  bent  himself  to  the  task  of 
seeking  sports  and  toys  for  their  benefit.  But  Ernest  was 
too  languid  to  join  with  much  spirit  in  the  amusements 
offered  him.  He  was  disappointed,  alarmed  at  his  mother's 
continued  illness,  fatigued  with  the  protracted  ride,  and 
wearied  and  overtasked  with  his  efforts  to  meet  with  Cor- 
responding interest  the  cordial  civilities  and  kindnesses  of 
his  assiduous  little  entertainer. 

"  Come,  Ernest,"  said  Allen,  who  saw  that  his  cherished 
companion  was  drooping,  "  you  shall  sit  in  this  big  chair 
and  let  me  rock  you  ;  you  can  shut  your  eyes,  and  just 
fancy  it  is  the  boat." 

Ernest  acquiesced.  They  placed  him  carefully  among 
the  cushions,  and  softly  swung  the  chair  on  its  nicely  bal- 
anced rockers.  The  aching  little  head  drooped,  the  weary 
eye  closed,  and  the  pale,  exhausted  boy,  rested  in  sweet, 
refreshing  slumber. 

Allen  and  Henry  sat  holding  whispering  discourse,  while 
they  kept  the  great  chair  cradle  in  motion ;  and  Mrs. 
Preston,  who  had  come  on  stealthy  tiptoe-step  into  the 
room,  stood  silently  contemplating  the  wan  face  of  the 
sleeping  boy,  when  Evelyn  and  Col.  Preston  entered  from 
their  walk  to  the  shore.  She  turned  her  tearful  eyes  and 
met  the  melancholy  look  of  Evelyn.  Silently  wringing 
the  hand  he  extended  to  her,  she  hastily  left  the  apartment. 
There  was  no  need  of  words ;  he  understood  the  import  of 
that  kind  pressure,  and  his  eyes  filled  as  he  advanced  and 
bent  over  the  chair. 

"  Go  out  and  seek  air  and  amusement,  my  kind  little 
fellows,  and  let  me  sit  here,"  said  Evelyn. 

The  boys  rose  at  once,  for  they  knew  it  was  his  wish, 
and  left  him  with  his  hand  on  the  chair. 


266  SEA-SPRAY. 

Col  Preston  went  out  to  give  some  necessary  directions 
to  his  laborers,  who  were  going  out  to  their  afternoon's 
work  in  the  fields ;  and  the  sad  father  sat  alone,  silently 
watching  by  his  child. 

Presently  he  opened  his  meek  eyes,  and  looked  smilingly 
up  at  his  father. 

"  Have  I  slept  long  ?"  he  asked,  "  and  where  are  the 
boys  ?" 

"  They  have  just  gone  out ;  down  to  the  shore,  per- 
haps." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  they  have  :  it  was  too  bad  to  keep 
them  here  with  such  a  stupid,  sleepy  fellow  as  I  am.  Does 
it  look  pleasant  on  the  water  to-day,  papa  ?" 

1 "  It  does  :  very.  Would  you  like  to  drive  down  after 
dinner  ?" 

"I  am  so  tired,"  said  Ernest,  making  an  effort  to  shake 
off  his  languor  and  rise.  "  Yes — I  should  like  to  look  at 
the  beautiful,  bright  blue  bay  just  once  more." 

He  paused,  and  Evelyn's  heart  stood  still  in  me  pang  of 
surprise  at  his  words. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  come  fishing  on  the  bay  any  more, 
papa.  I  thought  this  would  be  the  last  time,  when  I  came 
before.  I  was  so  glad  mother  would  come  once." 

What  could  that  devoted  father  say  to  the  calm  commu- 
nication of  his  child  ?  He  could  not  contradict  the  con- 
victions of  the  boy :  how  could  he  bear  to  confirm  to 
Ernest  or  himself  their  hopeless  reality  ? 

"  Why  did  you  think  so,  my  son  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Because,  papa,  I  knew  just  how  much  less  I  could  do 
the  last  time,  than  I  could  the  time  before ;  and  I  see  how 
little,  how  much  less  than  then,  I  can  do  now  ?" 

He  held  up  his  little  white  hand,  almost  transparent  in 
its  delicate  tenuity : 


SEA-SPRAY.  267 

"  I  don't  think,  papa,  this  would  haul  in  just  the  littlest 
bit  of  a  fish,  not  even  dear  little  Steenie's  :baby  porgy," 
said  he,  smiling  cheerfully. 

The  boys  came  in  at  that  moment,  bringing  the  shells 
they  had  collected  on  the  shore,  and  Ernest  turned,  in 
pleased  interest,  to  examine  and  admire  them,  while  Eve- 
lyn, solemn  and  sad,  but  calm,  sought  Ada  in  her  retire- 
ment. She  was  still  on  the  couch,  but  declined  making 
any  effort  to  rise. 

"  I  am  anxious,  on  Ernest's  account,  to  get  home  before 
night.  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  go  soon,  Ada,  will  you 
not?" 

Ada  shook  her  head,  but  gave  no  encouragement  that 
she  would  exert  herself,  and  made  no  inquiries  after  Er- 
nest. 

"  How  could  she  forget  her  child  ?  How  could  she  be 
so  thoughtlessly  selfiish  ?"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  returned 
to  watch,  with  redoubled  tenderness,  by  Ernest.  "  Yet, 
on  the  whole,  perhaps  it  is  best  as  it  is.  I  should  not  like 
just  now  to  tell  her,  what,  if  she  had  inquired,  I  should  not 
have  felt  it  right  to  withhold  from  her.  Let  me  drink  the 
cup  presented  to  me,  as  it  is  mixed ;  it  is  not  all  bitter — 
thank  God,  it  is  not  ail  bitter." 

The  languor  of  first  awakening  over,  Ernest  was  invigo- 
rated by  his  long  sleep,  and  entered  cheerfully  into  the 
quiet  amusements  got  up  to  cheer  and  please  him.  The 
day  wore  away  tediously  to  Evelyn,  for  he  felt  disturbed 
at  having  Ernest  so  long  excited  by  his  efforts  to  keep 
up,  and  fearful  of  the  effects  of  exposure  at  evening ;  but 
Ada,  though  decidedly  improved  and  renovated  in  strength, 
declined  making  any  preparations  to  leave.  At  length  the 
day  was  nearly  at  an  end,  and  she  inquired, 


268  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Will  it  be  quite  dark  by  the  time  we  get  into  the 
street,  Walter  ?" 

"  I  fear  it  will.  Do  you  feel  able  to  go  now?  It  is  time, 
quite  time  we  were  off." 

Ada  looked  out  and  saw  that  the  sun  was  near  its  setting, 
and  with  an  amazing  accession  of  strength,  she  began 
with  alacrity  to  robe  herself  for  her  ride. 

Few  were  the  words  of  parting  compliments,  for  Eve- 
lyn's heart  was  too  full  for  speech,  and  well  did  his  kind 
entertainers  read  it.  A  brief  word  of  thanks,  and  an  ex- 
pressive clasp  of  the  hand,  told  all  he  had  to  say. 

"  Come  and  see  us  again,  Ernest,1'  said  Mrs.  Preston,  a3 
her  young  guest,  carefully  wrapped  in  his  cloak  and  shawl, 
was  lifted  into  the  carriage. 

"  Papa  will  come  again,  one  of  these  days,"  answered 
the  boy  evasively ;  and  the  hospitable  roof  of  Col.  Preston 
was  soon  far  behind  them. 

"I  should  like  to  stop  a  minute  at  Austin's.  I  wish  to 
say  to  him,  that  we  shall  not  come  down  again  this  week." 

The  driver  reined  in  his  horses  at  the  gate,  opening 
upon  Austin's  premises. 

"  Shall  I  run  down  to  the  house  and  tell  him  ?"  asked 
Allen. 

"  Drive  to  the  house,  will  you,  papa  ?  I  should  like  to 
bid  Jim  and  dear  little  Steenie  good-bye — good  night,  I 
mean,"  said  Ernest,  with  considerate  tenderness,  recalling 
the  form  of  expression  which  he  knew  conveyed  a  painful 
meaning  to  his  father. 

"  Nonsense,  Ernest,  it  is  late,  and  I  am  cold,"  said  Ada, 
peevishly. 

"  Let  the  gate  open  if  you  please,  Allen,  and  get  in  ;  we 
will  drive  to  the  house." 


SEA-SPRAY.  269 

Evelyn  did  not  regard  Ada's  objection  :  it  was  late  for 
her  to  be  in  haste  now. 

They  had  not  driven  far  on  the  road,  winding  toward 
the  house,  before  they  met  Sam  Listen  running  at  the  top 
of  his  speed.  His  tale  of  sorrow  was  told  with  breathless, 
broken  brevity ;  every  word  of  its  startling  import  falling 
with  terrible  force  upon  the  stricken  heart  of  Ernest. 

"  Oh,  papa — oh,  papa,"  he  sobbed  out  in  almost  suffoca- 
ting emotion,  "  oh,  papa — if  it  had  not  been  for  us  ! — if  we 
had  only  gone — or  said  nothing  about  going !  What  shall 
we  do  ?  Oh,  papa,  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  We  can  do  nothing,  my  dear  son ;  but  you  have  no 
cause  to  reproach  yourself — it  was  no  fault  of  yours." 

"  I  might  have  been  contented  at  home  ;  it  was  not  ne- 
cessary to  turn  so  many  people  out  of  their  way  that  I 
might  be  amused.  I  see  now  how  selfish  I  was.  Oh,  why 
did  not  I  think  of  this  sooner." 

The  shocked  and  sensitive  boy  wept  and  sobbed  till  he 
was  wholly  exhausted,  and  lay  panting  and  weary  in  the 
arms  of  his  father.  Silent  and  pale,  the  little  party  entered 
the  house,  on  their  arrival  home,  where  the  tea-table  in  the 
dining-room,  and  the  blazing  fire  in  the  kitchen,  awaited 
them.  Allen  preceded  Evelyn,  bearing  Ernest  in  his  arms, 
direct  to  the  fire. 

"  We  began  to  be  anxious,"  said  Alice,  as  they  entered. 
What  made  you  so  late  ?  What  has  happened  ?  What 
is  the  meaning  of  your  sad,  pale  face,  Allen  ?" 

Allen  burst  into  tears,  and  gave  the  question  of  Alice  no 

answer;   but  Col.    Hesselten,  who  had   been  some  hours 

impatiently   watching  their   arrival,    had   gathered,   from 

the  driver,  all  that  was  known  of  the  distressing  affair. 

Ada  had  taken  a  light  arid  gone  at  once  to  her  room, 


270  SEA-SPRAY. 

manifesting  no  sympathy  with  Ernest's  sufferings  or  anxi- 
ety with  regard  to  his  health.  Carefully  removing  his 
wrappers,  and  placing  him  tenderly  in  the  great  lounging 
chair  by  the  fire,  Evelyn  left  Ernest  to  the  care  of  his 
friends,  and  went  to  look  after  the  comfort  of  Ada.  He 
found  her  cowering  in  her  room,  shivering  with  agitation 
and  cold,  but  obstinately  refusing  to  go  down  to  the  fire ; 
burying  her  face  in  the  folds  of  her  shawl,  she  exclaimed, 
sorrowfully : 

"  This  is  my  doing.  It  is  all  my  doing  ;  and  my  inten- 
tions were  kind.  I  thought  to  gratify  Ernest,  but  every- 
thing is  blighted  that  I  touch.  All  innocent  things  wither 
before  me — there  is  a  curse  upon  all  connected  with  me." 

"  Ada,  this  is  wilful  folly.  Why  will  you  add  to  the  deep 
wretchedness  of  this  thing,  by  this  ill-timed  violence  ? 
You  are  shaking  with  cold.  Cheer  up,  Ada,  and  come  to 
the  fire— come  with  me,  do." 

He  took  her  arm  to  lead  her  down,  but  she  broke  from 
him  exclaiming,  wildly : 

"  Away  with  you,  Walter  Evelyn,  touch  me  not.  I  am 
desperate.  I  will  meet  no  eye  again !  " 

Evelyn  regarded  her  a  moment  in  utter  bewilderment. 
He  was  stunned  by  her  wild  violence.  At  length  he  ap- 
proached her  with  perfect  calmness,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  he  looked  sternly  in  her  eye,  as  he  said, 
deliberately  and  without  passion  : 

"  Ada,  there  must  be  an  end  of  this  :  while  Ernest  lives 
I  will  bear  it.  For  his  sake  I  will  submit  patiently  to  all 
that  you  so  mercilessly  inflict.  When  his  blessed  little 
head  is  laid  in  the  grave,  if  I  can  see  it  and  live,  then,  Ada, 
there  must  be  a  reckoning,  fearful  and  final  between 
us." 

Ada  was  calm  and  submissive. 


SEA-SPRAY.  271 

"  I  will  go  down,  Walter ;  I  will  do  anything  you  ask. 
I  will  humble  myself  in  the  dust  at  your  feet — anything, 
everything  unflinchingly,  but  have  your  displeasure.  Let 
me  go  down  and  see  Ernest ;  how  could  I  forget  him  ? 
Forgive  me,  Walter,  I  almost  forgot  his  existence." 

"  There  was  little  need  that  you  should  tell  me,  Ada,  for 
my  heart  ached  for  the  dying  child,  forgot  in  your  un- 
motherly  selfishness.  It  did  not  escape  me,  for  I  am  pain- 
fully sensitive  for  him.  If  it  escaped  his  notice,, it  is  of  lit- 
tle moment  to  me  now." 

Evelyn  turned  to  go,  but  Ada  clung  to  him. 

"  Take  me  with  you,  Walter  ;  let  me  go  to  my  child." 

"If  you  can  compose  yourself,  and  not  distress  Ernest 
with  your  hysterical  folly.  Not  otherwise." 

"  You  are  unjust,  Walter.  I  am  not  hysterical;  it  was  but 
the  sudden  caving  in  of  a  false,  hollow  heart." 

Evelyn  turned  upon  her  a  sharp,  searching  glance,  before 
which  her  eye  quailed. 

"  No  more  of  this — if  you  go  with  me,  remember." 

Shrinking  at  his  stern  words,  she  accompanied  him  down 
stairs,  and  sat  down  with  a  pale  face,  and  tears  in  her  soft 
loving  eyes,  by  the  side  of  her  child.  * 

"  Poor,  dear  mother,  how  pale  you  look,"  said  the  gen- 
tle boy,  leaning  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  while  the  big 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheek.  "  This  is  a  dreadful  thing  to 
meet,  mother.  I  can't  help  thinking  as  if  I  had  been  to 
blame,  though  I  hope  I  have  not.  I  could  not  help  it, 
mother — I  could  not  help  it,  dear  mother,  could  I  ?" 

"  You  could  not,  indeed,  my  precious  child  ;  don't  dis- 
tress yourself  with  such  a  thought.  I  am  the  cause  if  any 
one.  But  for  me,  you  would  have  gone  through  with  your 
plans.  Be  pacified,  Ernest,  I  will  bear  all  the  blame." 


272  SEA-SPRAY. 

Ada  spoke  soothingly  and  tenderly,  as  she  caressed  her 
child  ;  all  the  passionate  violence  of  her  manner  disappear- 
ing  before  the  touching  sorrow  of  the  boy.  Composed, 
and  partially  consoled,  Ernest  was  taken  to  his  bed.  But 
the  shock  had  been  too  severe  for  his  enfeebled  frame — he 
was  feverish  and  restless  ;  and  if  for  a  brief  period  sleep 
visited  his  pillow,  it  was  but  to  bring  dreams  of  terror  and 
trouble. 

With  the  earliest  dawn,  Evelyn  went  out  to  seek  intel- 
ligence ;  but  none  had  been  gained,  and  he  returned  dis- 
heartened that  he  could  bring  no  relief  Jto  his  suffering 
child. 

"  Evelyn,"  said  Ada,  "  look  at  this." 

They  were  sitting  beside  Ernest  in  the  early  morning^ 
watching  the  first  calm  slumber  as  it  fell  over  him.  Ada 
handed  to  her  husband  the  rumpled  fragment  of  newspaper 
which  had  caused  so  much  emotion  the  preceding  day,  and 
led  by  a  concurrence  of  consequent  circumstances  to  so 
much  suffering.  She  pointed  to  a  paragraph  announcing 
arrivals  at  a  fashionable  hotel,  and  Evelyn  read  : 

"  Rev.  Ernest  Atherton  and  daughter,  England." 

"  Is  it  possible,  Ada,  that  so  common-place  a  thing  as 
that  has  power  to  agitate  you  so  excessively  ?  What  is 
there  so  terrible  in  all  this  ?  The  notice  itself  should  put 
you  at  rest.  It  seems  he  is  not  pining  in  loneliness  ;  he  has 
found  another  love,  for,  do  you  not  see,  he  is  accompanied 
by  a  daughter  ?  I  should  think  it  would  be  pleasant,  after 
such  a  length  of  years,  to  meet  the  companion  and  friend 
of  your  early  life." 

"  Not  for  all  this  earth  contains,  Walter ;  I  would  sooner 
die.  Where,  where  shall  I  hide  myself  now  ?" 


SEA-SPEAY.  273 

"  Was  it  this,  then,  that  influenced  your  strange  conduct 
yesterday  ? — this  ridiculous  whim,  that  induced  you  to 
delay  our  return  till  dark,  exposing  our  child  to  the  chill 
evening  damps  ?  Can  it  be  this  silly  fear  of  a  shadow,  and 
that  your  own  cousin — the  adopted  brother  of  your  child- 
hood— that  keeps  you  skulking  almost  from  the  light  of 
day  ?  I  cannot  comprehend  it." 

Ada  was  silent.  Suddenly,  Evelyn  spoke,  as  if  an  un- 
pleasant thought  had  suggested  itself.  "Ada — tell  me — 
did  you  make  a  grand  mistake  when  you  suffered  me  to 
keep  what  the  waves  had  thrown  to  my  care  ?  Is  this  early 
love  still  sinfully  cherished  in  your  heart,  that  you  so  dread 
to  meet  its  object  ?" 

The  lips  of  the  speaker  quivered,  and  his  eye  gleamed 
with  unwonted  fire.  A  new  sting  was  planted  in  his  heart 
to  tire  and  torture  him. 

"  You  are  cruel,  Walter.  You  are  not  cruel  only— you 
are  unjust.  I  will  not  waste  words  in  the  denial  of  so 
baseless  a  charge.  Whatever  other  sins  I  may  have  com- 
mitted, my  heart  never  harbored  one  thought  that  dishonored 
you.  I  cannot  stoop  to  repel  such  an  accusation." 

"  Be  easy,  then,  and  dismiss  your  unfounded  fears.  Since 
you  so  dread  this  meeting,  you  are  little  likely  to  be  ex- 
posed to  it.  There  is  nothing  in  Sea-spray  to  attract  trav- 
elers from  abroad.  He  will  probably  take  the  fashionable 
thoroughfares ;  visit  the  great  points  of  attraction,  and  re- 
turn in  a  month  or  so.  For  myself,  I  should  rather  like  to 
meet  him." 

Ada  made  no  reply,  and  the  subject  hitherto  so  carefully 
avoided  between  them,  was  suffered  to  drop.  Ernest  awoke 
refreshed,  and  went  down  with  his  father  to  breakfast ;  soon 
after  which,  Mr.  Alden  called  at  the  door,  in  his  carriage, 

12 


274  SEA-SPRA.Y. 

saying  to  Evelyn — "  I  think  I  shall  drive  down  and  see  the 
Austins.     Will  you  take  a  seat  with  me  ?  " 

Evelyn,  at  Ernest's  entreaty,  accepted  the  invitation ; 
and  they  drove  off,  on  the  road  he  had  traveled  so  often 
recently,  with  solemn  and  painful  reflections  in  their  minds, 
affording  subjects  for  much  grave  and  anxious  discourse. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  blue  smoke  curled  up  among  the  trees  that  hung 
their  sheltering  boughs  over  the  roof  of  Isaac  Austin,  rising 
in  tapering  and  twisting  spires,  on  the  calm  dewy  air,  when 
the  first  golden  gleamings  of  dawn  began  to  paint  the  hori- 
zon, on  that  desolate  morrow  which  broke  on  a  childless 
home. 

Sam  Listen  had  returned  before  the  dawn,  from  his 
mission  of  love  to  the  humble  roof,  which,  low  and  obscure 
as  it  was,  was  yet  not  too  low  for  the  entrance  of  sorrow, 
nor  too  humble  to  be  the  abode  of  all  the  holy  and  gentle 
affections  which  God  has  given  to  gladden  the  human 
heart,  and  which  live  in  the  glow  of  the  meanest,  poorest 
hearths,  and  smile  round  the  boards  of  the  lowliest  of 
humble  homes.  He  had  kindled  the  fire,  hung  on  the 
kettle  for  breakfast,  and  taken  a  long,  hopeless  stroll  along 
shore,  but  vestige  or  sign  there  was  none,  and  he  had  re- 
turned to  attend,  with  faithful,  affectionate  thoughtfulness, 
to  duties  which,  even  in  sickness,  sorrow,  and  death,  can 
never  be  remitted. 

The  little  family  were  early  astir.  Sleep  had  found  no 
resting-place  on  their  lids,  for  sorrow  and  suspense  had 
kept  their  unceasing  watch,  "  enduring  the  night-time ;" 
but  joy  had  not  "  come  with  the  morning." 


276  SEA-SPKAY. 

Isaac  Austin  stepped  into  his  pleasant  little  kitchen,  with 
a  calm,  pale  face.  There  was  no  change  there  ;  every- 
thing looked  as  it  looked  every  morning  at  that  early  hour, 
before  the  boys  were  awake,  or  the  business  of  the  day 
began.  He  looked  around  on  the  silent  objects,  scarcely 
discernible  in  the  gleaming  fire-light. 

Oh,  how  everything  had  a  voice,  ringing  loud  in  his 
aching  heart  ?  Here  lay  Jim's  books,  as  he  brought  them 
in  from  school,  the  strap  still  buckled  around  them  ;  there 
was  Steenie's  little  wagon,  with  yesterday's  gathering  of 
violets  yet  fresh  within  it ;  here  stood  Jim's  bat ;  yonder 
lay  his  ball,  his  top,  and  Steenie's  little  whip,  the  apron  last 
taken  off,  the  worn  shoes,  replaced  by  stouter  ones  when 
he  went  out  yesterday.  The  father  bent  over  them,  al- 
most fancying  the  warmth  of  the  little  feet  still  lingering 
there.  It  was  too  much ! — too  much  !  Feeling,  deep, 
strong,  agonizing,  broke  over  all  the  restraints  of  self-im- 
posed fortitude,  and  the  strong,  stern  man  bent,  and  swayed, 
and  sobbed,  with  meanings  and  blistering  tears,  over  the 
little  shoe  of  his  loved,  lost  boy.  He  laid  his  hand  on 
the  buckled  strap  of  Jim's  school-books,  his  broad  breast 
heaving  with  convulsive  throes,  and  he  remembered  only 
that  he  was  a  man  and  a  father.  But  Ailsie  was  moving 
in  her  bed-room.  He  must  nerve  himself  to  meet  this. 
Should  he  remove  these  memorials  of  her  boys  ?  Should 
he  put  them  away  out  of  her  sight,  that  they  might  not 
overpower  her,  as  they  had  him  ?  A  wrenching  pang 
was  screwing  his  heart.  They  were  where  their  own 
little  hands  had  placed  them.  They  were  hallowed  to  his 
feelings  by  their  touch.  Where  they  had  laid  them  they 
must  remain.  From  the  places  which  that  last  act  of  their 
lives  had  consecrated,  how  could  he  so  soon  depose  them  ? 


SEA- SPRAY.  277 

He  could  not.  It  would  be  useless.  Were  not  their 
images  everywhere  ? — their  presence  over  everything  ? — 
their  sweet  faces  looking  out  from  every  corner? — their 
glad  voices  and  bounding  steps  echoing  in  every  sound  ? 
Ailsie  came  out.  She  made  no  outcry — no  loud  lamenta- 
tions; but  she  could  not  be  still.  She  paced  restlessly 
from  room  to  room,  over  the  house,  and  around  it, 
listening  to  every  sound — starting,  waiting,  watching, 
dreading,  but  not  hoping,  or  only  hoping  one  thing — that 
the  sea  would  render  back  its  dead,  that  she  might  have 
them — that  she  only  might  know  where  to  weep  over 
their  graves — that  she  might  yet  be  gathered  beside  them 
in  the  dust.  But  Ailsie  did  not  forget  that  she  was  a  wife, 
as  well  as  a  mother.  She  did  not  forget  that  the  blow 
which  had  fallen  with  such  benumbing  force  on  the  mo- 
ther's heart,  had  left  the  father  childless.  Unlike  Ada,  she 
did  not,  in  the  hour  of  affliction,  hug  her  own  sorrow  to  her 
heart,  and  forget  that  it  had  sharers,  while  she  thought  only 
of  its  bearing  on  her  own  comforts.  She  was  a  devoted, 
true-hearted  companion,  adviser,  and  friend  to  her  hus- 
band. There  was  no  tinge  of  selfishness  in  her  nature ; 
but  with  pure  singleness  of  purpose,  she  looked  first  to 
secure  the  happiness  of  those  whose  happiness  was  in  any 
way  entrusted  to  her  keeping,  holding  herself  of  no  account 
till  others  were  cared  for ;  and  in  nothing  was  she  incon- 
sistent, or  untrue  to  her  trust,  now.  ••* 

Anna  and  her  mother  went  quietly  about,  discharging 
the  daily  domestic  duties.  The  table  was  set  out  in  the 
usual  place,  and  the  breakfast  silently  prepared.  Ailsie 
came  in,  and  gave  her  attention  to  such  little  matters 
as  needed  thought,  calmly  telling  her  willing  assistants 
where  to  find  such  articles  as  were  required  ;  quietly 


278  SEA-SPRAY.  ] 

gliding  about,  with  that  shrinking,  shuddering,  and  putting 
off  of  the  lonely  meal,  which  they  all  understood  and 
shared. 

Sam  came  in,  throwing  down  his  hat,  as  usual,  behind 
the  door,  eliciting  a  growl  from  Carlo,  the  faithful  old 
house-dog,  the  playmate  and  companion  of  Steenie  in  his 
wanderings  about  the  premises.  Steenie's  cap  had  fallen 
from  the  nook  on  which  it  had  been  hung,  and  Carlo  was 
keeping  watch  beside  it.  With  one  paw  extended  over 
the  cap,  and  his  nose  resting  on  his  feet,  he  kept  his  gray 
eyes  constantly  turned  towards  the  object  of  his  care, 
suffering  no  one  to  approach  or  touch  it. 

Isaac  Austin  opened  his  Bible  ;  it  was  his"  invariable 
custom.  Could  its  blessed  teachings  be  dispensed  with 
now  ?  With  a  trembling  hand  he  turned  the  leaves,  and 
selecting  the  1 3th  and  14th  of  Job,  he  read  it  falteringly 
and  tremulously  to  the  end.  The  accustomed  morning 
hymn  was  attempted,  Sam  and  Anna  joining  their  voices ; 
but  Ailsie  could  not  sing,  and  Austin's  voice  gave  forth  one 
sad  wail  and  ceased.  The  sweet  voice  of  their  lost  Jim, 
yesterday  morning,  made  glad  music  to  their  hearts,  and 
Ailsie  thought  of  the  little  form  that  always  sat  on  her  lap 
and  mingled  his  childish  tones  with  hers.  "  When  I  can 
read  my  title  clear,"  was  gone  through  with,  for  Sam  and 
Anna  were  practised  members  of  the  little  evening  choir,  and 
singing  for  her  aunt  was  Anna's  duty  now ;  she  would  have 
performed  a  more  painful  one  as  cheerfully.  Then  the 
pleading  tones  of  prayer  went  up,  low  and  solemn ;  deeply, 
grandly  impressive  were  the  words,  which,  in  the  inspira- 
tion of  heart-breaking  grief,  came  kindling  and  glowing 
with  the  warmth  of  devotional  feeling  from  the  lips  of  that 
childless  and  stricken  man.  Oh,  that  [bitter,  bitter  drop 


8EA-SPEAY.  279 

in  the  bitter  cup  of  bereavement ! — that  insupportable 
draught,  from  which,  knowing  it  mustbe  tasted,  the  blench- 
ing lip  draws  back  ! — that  terrible  first  meeting  round  the 
family  board  from  which  death  has  taken  a  member ! — the 
unoccupied  seat,  the  unfilled  cup,  the  unneeded  plate,  the 
silence,  the  vacancy,  the  awe — how  the  heart  sinks  and 
shivers,  and  longs  to  break  andjse  at  rest ! — and  here,  two 
vacant  seats,  two  empty  cups — two  gone,  to  come  no 
more !  The  carroling  bird,  the  sunshine,  the  heart's 
dew  of  their  happy  home,  silenced,  shadowed,  dried  up! 
They  must  weep — weep  and  lament ;  they  must,  and  they 
did. 

The  melancholy  formality  was  over.  The  untasted 
breakfast  was  put  by.  Neighbors  and  friends  thronged  in 
to  weep,  to  condole,  to  assist,  but  not  one  to  speak  of  hope  ; 
even  the  confusion  was  relief — anything  to  break  that 
intolerable  stillness.  At  last  came  one,  who  carefully 
shadowed  forth  a  possibility.  It  was  kind,  gentle-hearted 
"  old  uncle  Lester  Bennet,"  who  spoke  some  words  for 
hope  to  grasp  at ;  it  might  have  been  misjudging  kindness, 
but  he  said : 

"Law  now,  Ailsie,  child,  I  haint  gin  'em  up;  you  see 
when  I  heard  on't  last  night,  why  1  couldn't  sleep  no-way 
I  could  fix  it ;  so  I  sot  down  in  the  sill  o'  the  door,  and  I 
sot  ter  turnin'  on't  over  kinder  in  my  mind.  It  was  as 
calm  as  a  clock,  and  as  clear  as  a  kitten's  eye.  Tha 
want  northen  on  arth  to  hurt  'em,  an  them  air  tew  oldest 
boys,  they  knowed-  enough  ter  keep  her  on  an  even  keel 
and  let  her  drift.  I  can't  larn,  as  the  least  arthful  thing  has 
druv  ashore.  Now  it  stands  to  reason,  it's  jest  as  plain 
as  preachin'  to  me,  child,  that  suthink  anuther  would  a 
drifted  along  shore  eflf  they'd  a  bin  drowned,  a  hanker- 


280  SEA-SPRAY. 

cher  or  their  straw  hats,  or  suthink  ;  but  thain't  nothink 
under  the  cope  druv  up;  and  its  my  idea  ther'  sartin 
would." 

Ailsie  caught  at  the  straw  the  old  man  had  pushed 
within  her  reach,  and  ran  eagerly  out  to  tell  her  new  hope 
to  her  husband. 

"  I  had  thought  of  all  that,  Ailsie,  but  I  knew  how  little 
reason  there  was  to  lean  upon  it,  and  I  would  not  mention 
it  to  you.  I  did  not  think  it  right  to  tantalize  you  with 
hopes  almost  certain  to  be  disappointed." 

Ailsie  returned  the  more  depressed  for  her  transient  ela- 
tion ;  but  the  old  boatman  replied,  persistingly : 

"  Never  mind,  Ailsie,  put  a  leetle  faith  in  the  opinion  of 
an  old  man,  that  knowed  these  waters  afore  Isaac  Austin 
was  born,  and  has  pulled  a  boat  over  e'en  most  every  inch 
on  'em.  I  know  jest  how  the  tide  sot  yesterday  arternoon, 
and  where  the  wind  was,  what  leetle  tha'  was  on't,  all 
night,  and  eff  they  wan't  skeered  they  was  jest  as  safe  as 
eff  they'd  bin  ter  hum.  That  air's  a  putty  big  boat,  and  as 
I  telled  my  old  woman,  it  would  be  seen  a  good  ways  off, 
eff  they  want  seen  from  Montauk,  or  by  any  body  'long 
shore,  ary  one ;  thar's  allus  boats  cutting  about,  and  the 
sound  and  the  sea,  for  miles  off  the  Pint,  is  chuck  full  o' 
smacks  and  all  sorts  o'  craft.  It's  my  mind  them  air 
leetle  cbaps'll  turn  up  from  somewhere's  bym-by." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  go  to  Montauk,  and  along 
the  north  shore,  and  look  out,"  said  Ailsie. 

"  La,  bless  your  dear  little  soul,  child,  there's  more'n  a 
dozen  mounted  men  bin  on  the  move  sence  daylight.  That 
air  gentleman  as  Isaac  took  a  fishin',  and  Mr.  Welby ; 
why,  they've  shelled  out  their  shiners  like  sand,  and  sent 
off  boats  from  all  pints.  Eff  money '11  find  'em,  they'll  be 


SEA-SPRAY.  281 

found.  Well,  child,  the  Lord  be  with  you  !  He  can  com- 
fort you  when  nobody  else  can't.  I'll  jog  along  over  to 
poor  Dick's,  and  see  him  and  Judy  a  spell — poor  creaters." 

"  You  had  better  come  back  here  and  get  dinner,  uncle 
Lester,"  said  Ailsie,  clinging  desperately  to  the  only  friend 
who  had  cheered  her  heart  with  words  of  hope. 

"Oh,  'taint  no  matter  about  dinner."    But  Ailsie  urged. 

"  Well,  I'll  see,  eff  I  aint  tew  tired.  I  dun  no,  I  may 
fertiner."  And  the  infirm  old  man  "jogged  along,"  lean- 
ing heavily  on  his  long  knotted  sapling,  denuded  of  its 
bark,  and  twisting  naturally  just  a  convenient  turn  for  his 
hand. 

Hs  had  scarcely  left,  when  Mr.  Alden  came  slowly  driv- 
ing up  the  approach,  shrinking  from  the  scene  of  distress, 
so  painful  to  witness  because  he  could  not  relieve.  Isaac 
Austin  was  one  of  his  most  highly  esteemed  parishioners,  and 
the  lost  boys  were  counted  not  the  least  precious  among 
the  baptized  lambs  of  his  flock. 

Sam  came  out  to  groom  the  pastor's  horse,  his  honest 
face  working  with  the  emotions  he  thought  it  not  manly  to 
display,  and  Evelyn  followed  his  friend  into  the  house. 

Ailsie  loved  and  reverenced  her  pastor — his  last  visits  to 
her  house  had  been  in  the  time  of  deep  affliction,  but  a  few 
weeks  back,  to  minister  to  her  sorrow,  and  to  bury  her 
beautiful  and  only  daughter,  and  she  came  forward  to  meet 
him  with  a  burst  of  uncontrollable  grief. 

To  Evelyn  it  was  overwhelming  :  this  meeting  with  the 
man  who  had  spent  so  many  happy  days  helping  him  to 
enliven  and  make  pleasant  the  fleeting  hours  of  his  child. 
He  could  not  help  feeling  painfully  his  agency  in  what  had 
occurred,  and  voice  and  language  failed  him,  when  he  met 
his  proffered  hand. 

12* 


282  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Don't  mention  it,  Mr.  Evelyn,"  said  Austin,  in  reply  to 
his  attempted  expressions  of  self-accusation,  "  don't  speak 
of  it  in  that  light,  I  have  no  such  feeling.  Put  it  away,  it 
is  wrong.  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  see  any  hand  but  God's, 
in  this,  mine  affliction." 

"  I  am  glad,  truly  glad,  my  dear  friend,  to  find  you  and 
Mrs.  Austin  so  composed.  I  did  not  expect  it — I  certainly 
did  not  expect  it." 

"  It  is  a  sore  trial,  Mr.  Alden,  it  is  hard  to  bear,  and  I  feel 
that  the  spirit  faints  and  the  flesh  is  weak,  but  I  hope  we 
shall  not  be  tempted  to  rebel.  I  hope  we  shall  be  enabled 
to  be  still,  and  have  grace  given  us  to  kiss  the  rod ;  but, — 
but, — you  have  never  lost  a  child,  Mr.  Alden." 

"Never,  blessed  be  His  name!  But  I  hope  God  has 
given  me  a  heart  to  feel  for  those  who  have." 

"  I  hope  you  will  long  be  spared  the  lesson.  I  have  been 
thinking  that  perhaps  we  needed  it  more  than  we  thought 
for.  I  remember,  and  it  seems  strange  to  me  now,  that  I 
should  have  felt  so  when  I  went  to  Gosport  yesterday,  and 
looking  back  from  the  gate,  I  saw  the  little  graves  in  the 
corner,  yonder,  and  not  the  little  curly-head  that  looked 
after  me  from  the  fence.  I  turned  back  to  weep  for  the 
child  God  had  taken  to  be  with  Himself,  and  not  to  thank 
him  for  the  bright,  healthy,  happy  creatures  he  had  left  to 
be  with  me  ;  and,  when  I  came  home  my  heart  was  heavy 
for  the  one  that  was  not,  instead  of  being  lifted  up  in  grate- 
ful acknowledgments  for  those  that  were  spared.  I  see  it 
all  now.  I  feel  how  sinful  I  was  in  my  yesterday's  repinings, 
and  I  try,  when  I  look  upon  what  I  have  left,  to  moderate 
my  grief,  lest  I  be  even  more  desolate  to-morrow." 

"  But,  my  good  friend,  you  must  not  be  too  severe  in 
your  self-judgment.  God  would  not  have  given  us  these 


SEA-SPRAY.  283 

strong  human  affections,  if  to  cherish  them,  and  to  mourn 
their  sundering,  were  sin.  Kemember — '  whom  the  Lord 
loveth,  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he 
receiveth.'  " 

Austin  bent  his  head  in  reply  to  his  pastor's  remark;  and 
he  turned  to  address  himself  to  Ailsie : 

"  I  am  comforted,  Mrs.  Austin,  to  see  you  so  resigned — 
that  you  receive  this  chastening  in  so  childlike  and  submis- 
sive a  spirit." 

"  You  don't  understand  me,  Mr.  Alden,  if  you  think  I  am 
submissive, — I  am  not.  I  try  to  be  still,  and  to  endure  pa- 
tiently what  I  cannot  alter.  I  may  seem  outwardly  sub- 
missive, but  my  heart  is  all  rebellion.  I  would  heave  the 
earth  from  its  foundations  to  bring  back  my  boys.  I  am 
not  resigned,  and  I  can't  hold  my  peace  and  have  you  think 
better  of  me  than  I  deserve.  I  can't  let  you  believe  what 
is  not  true." 

"  Oh,  Ailsie !"  said  Austin,  "  this  is  a  stubborn  spirit ; 
you  must,  try  to  bend  it ;  you  can  have  no  peace  till  you 
do." 

"  God  forgive  me,  Isaac,  I  know  it  is.  I  don't  intend  to 
indulge  it ;  but  I  could  not  have  Mr.  Alden  think  I  am  re- 
signed and  patient,  when  I  am  not.  Why  should  I  seek  to 
hide  from  man,  what  I  cannot  hide  from  man's  Maker?"  jjy 

Ailsie  bowed  herself  down  and  wept,  and  there  was  no 
sound  heard  in  the  room  but  her  thick  coming  sobs,  and 
the  slow  tread  of  Austin,  pacing  up  and  down. 

After  a  brief  prayer  and  a  woild  of  kind  expressions,  the 
gentlemen  left,  and  drove  over  to  Dick  Brown's. 

The  door  of  Dick  Brown's  house  was  swung  wide  open, 
and  Dick  sat  dozing  on  the  rough  stone  before  it.  He  rose 
to  make  way  for  the  gentlemen,  who  stopped  to  make  some 
inquiries  after  his  health,  to  which  he  replied  : 


284:  SEA-SPRAY. 

"Oh,  I'm  so's  to  be  hitchin'  about,  what's  left  on  me  ;  but 
I  tell  the  old  woman  I  aint  good  for  much." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it, — sorry  to  hear  it.  Anything 
new  ?" 

"  No,  I  calc'late  not :  nothin'  more'n's  to  be  reckoned 
on't  at  my  time  of  life.  I've  been  a  hard  workin'  man, 
Mr.  Alden,  and  mebby  I  aint  lived  quite  as  I  might ;  but 
step  in,  and  see  the  old  woman,  she'll  be  glad  to  see  you, 
and  Mary  too,  poor  child,  for  that  matter.  This  'ere  busi- 
ness about  poor  Lyme  has  took  hold  on  her  pretty  tough." 

Dick  showed  his  visitors  into  the  house,  and  took  care 
to  keep  out  of  sight.  The  house  was  comfortable  and 
neat  in  its  arrangements,  and  there  was  no  want  of  com- 
pany ;  for  Dick  Brown  belonged  to  a  class,  among  whom 
ready  and  effective  sympathy  was  never  wanting.  Kind 
and  friendly  in  their  social  relations,  of  genial  and  improvi- 
dent habits,  spending  freely  what  they  had  to-day,  and 
trusting  luck  or  the  parish  for  to-morrow,  they  were  always 
ready  to  extend  a  helping  hand  to  each  other,  sure  that  one 
would  never  want  while  another  had.  Where  sickness  or 
affliction  entered,  the  whole  population  of  the  little  hamlet 
were  sure  to  follow,  to  talk,  and  marvel,  and  help,  and  look 
on,  and  eat,  as  long  as  there  was  anything  left,  or  till  some 
fresher  wonder,  or  some  more  astonishing  case  of  being 
"  dretful  strangely  handled,"  called  them  en  masse  to  gape, 
and  wonder,  and  eat  somewhere  else.  Mary  was  weeping 
and  striving  all  in  her  power  to  keep  the  house  quiet,  and 
to  preserve  some  little  regard  to  appearances.  Judy  was  sit- 
ting in  her  chair,  evidently  dressed  to  see  company,  and 
grieving  to  the  utmost  of  her  besotted  capacity.  Poor 
Mary  came  forward  with  a  timid  blush  to  place  chairs  for 
the  gentlemen.  Shame  and  scorching  mortification  had 
dried  up  her  tears, 


SEA-SPEAY.  286 

"  So  the  minister's  come  to  see  us,  has  he  ?  Well,  he'd 
orter.  I  am  glad  he  has ;  he's  jest  come  to  raleize  as  poor 
folks  has  got  feelins.  I  reckoned  he  niver  knowed  they 
had." 

Judy  maundered  on  till  sleep  overpowered  her,  when  a 
rather  energetic  nod  aroused  her,  and  the  pastor  took 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  speak  : 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  to-day,  Mrs.  Brown  ?" 

Judy  looked  up. 

"  Lawful,  sur !  It's  Mr.  Alden,  aint  it  ?  Well,  I  was 
sorter  dozing  here,  for  I  ain't  had  no  sleep  ter  night.  How 
does  Mr.  Alden  get  along  ?" 

"  Comfortable,  Judy,  comfortable." 

"  I'm  dretful  glad  on't.  How  do'  they  stan'  it  over  to 
Isaac's  ?  Chuck  full  o'  grace  and  comfort  ?  Well,  well, 
Isaac  Austin's  a  good  man  if  there  is  any  good  men  in  these 
days  ;  but  th'ain't  no  sich  as  tha'  used  to  be.  Ah,  we  can't 
have  sich  times  now  as  we  uster  could  in  them  old  times. 
Well,  we  are  all  poor  wicked  sinners,  we  be ;  and  poor 
Lyme,  he's  gone,  poor  boy !" 

And  poor  Judy  rocked  and  reeled  her  great  body,  and 
wept  and  wrung  her  hands,  while  Mary  was  heard  sob- 
bing in  the  kitchen.  It  was  grief,  genuine  heart-sorrow. 
Poor  Judy  loved  the  orphan  children  of  her  son,  and  Lyme, 
the  youngest,  was  very  dear  to  her,  when  she  was  sober 
enough  to  have  any  feeling  for  anything. 

"  Poor  dear  child,  I  bought  him  a  hankercher  of  a  ped- 
lar yesterday  :  it  had  a  proper  pretty  picter  on't,  and 
readin'.  Mary  said  as  'twas  good  readin',  but  I  couldn't 
tell,  for  larnin'  didn't  come  to  poor  folks  when  I's  young, 
as  it  does  now  ;  but  as  I's  say  in',  Jim  Austin,  he  read  some 
on't  to  me,  and  I  knew  as  'twas  sunthen  about  prayer. 


286  SEA-SPRAT. 

Well,  when  they  went  off  a  flourishin'  that  hankercher, 
blessed  leetle  critters,  leetle  I  thought  as  'twas  the  last  time 
I  should  ever  a-set  eyes  on  'em,  and  that  our  poor  Lyme 
was  goin'  to  be  drounded.  Sudsy-me  ! — sudsy-me  !" 

And  Judy  wept  again,  and  moaned,  and  wrung  her  hands 
as  if  her  poor  old  heart  would  break. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Alden,  it  won't  go  hard  with  my  poor  boy ; 
he  wan't  a  bad  boy,  Lyme  wan't ;  but  it  goes  to  my  heart, 
it  does,  to  think  how  we  brung  him  up.  We  sot  him  bad 
examples,  we  did,  Mr.  Alden.  But  we  sot  store  by  the 
poor  boy,  and  we  let  him  have  his  own  way,  as  'twere.  If 
there  was  anything  bad  in  Lyme,  if  the  Lord  would 
only  please  to  lay  it  all  on  me.  It  wan't  his  fault  if  he 
was  brung  up  bad.  Oh,  I'm  dretful  sorry  !  Sudsy. me — 
oh,  sudsy-me!" 

"Well,  I  hope,  Judy,  if  you  feel  that  you  have  done 
wrong,  and  have  not  lived  as  you  should  have  done,  you 
will  repent  now,  and  try  to  live  a  better  life  in  future." 

"  Ah  !  lawful  sus !  we  all  on  us  need  to  do  better'n  we 
do.  I'm  a  poor  sinful  old  critter,  but  I'm  een'y  most  done. 
I  shan't  stay  to  sin  but  dretful  leetle  more.  If  I's  only  in 
a  state  ;  but  I  tell  my  ole  man  I  ain't  got  no  dyin'  grace — 
the  more's  the  pity.  1  do  long  to  have." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  dying  grace,  Judy — 
dying  grace  is  for  the  dying  hour,  the  living  need  the 
grace  which  will  enable  them  to  regulate  their  daily  lives. 
You  want  the  grace  which  will  lead  you  to  live  a  '  godly, 
righteous  and  sober  life.'  Have  you  got  that  ?" 

Judy  had  no  perception  of  sober,  but  as  the  antithesis 
of  drunk,  and  she  answered  as  she  understood  : 

"  Who  says  I  ain't  sober  ?  I  don't  know  but  Mr.  Alden 
thinks  I'm  '  how-come-you-so '  now  ?" 


SEA-SPBAY.  287 

"  I  hope,  Judy,  you  would  not  be  found  otherwise  than 
sober  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?"  replied  the  clergyman, 
adroitly  evading  the  question. 

"  I  must  have  a  little  gin,  when  I  have  my  spells.  Ther' 
don't  nothin'  else  do  me  no  sort  o'  good.  I've  tried  all 
sorts  o'  yarb  drink-tea,  and  took  most  no  end  o'  docter 
stuff.  La,  'twan't  no  use.  When  my  spells  come  on,  I 
can't  get  no  comfort  in  nothin'  else." 

"  Are  these  attacks  of  illness  frequent,  Judy  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Alden. 

"It  does  as  tho'  they  kinder  growed  on  me,  and  it  seems 
to  take  more'n  more  to  break  'em,  but  I  ain't  cal'late  to 
get  overtook." 

"  Well,  Judy,  I  hope  you  will  think  of  what  I  tell  you ; 
and  as  you  say  you  did  not  exactly  do  your  duty  by  Lyman, 
try  to  make  it  up  to  Mary  for  his  sake.  She  is  a  good 
affectionate  child  to  you,  and  you  must  not  give  her  too 
much  trouble  when  you  have  those  spells  you  speak  of." 

The  clergyman  turned  to  have  some  conversation  with 
Mary,  and  Judy  was  soon  nodding  again  in  her  chair,  un- 
disturbed by  anything  that  was  not  particularly  addressed 
to  herself.  Evelyn  silently  handed  to  Mary,  in  Ernest's 
name,  a  little  sum  for  the  supply  of  her  own  peculiar  per- 
sonal wants,  and  they  took  their  leave. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  as  he  put  his  horse  a  little  upon 
his  mettle,  "  it  is  a  common-  saying,  '  it  takes  all  sorts  of 
folks  to  make  a  world.'  Clergymen  and  physicians  can 
testify  to  the  truth  of  it.  Now  I  don't  know  whether  to 
crowd  on  sail,  or  to  take  a  reef  or  two,  as  we  pass  these 
straits,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  good  humoredly.  as  they  neared  a 
little  settlement  on  their  road  home ;  "  we  shall  be  hailed 
from  every  door." 


288  SEA-SPRAY. 

"You  may  as  well  reef,"  said  Evelyn  in  reply,  "for  I 
think  yonder  craft  intends  to  bring  you  to." 

So  the  clergyman  pulled  in  the  reins,  concluding  to 
slacken  his  pace  and  run  the  gauntlet,  through  the  shower 
of  tonguey  missiles ;  every  door  stood  open,  and  messen- 
gers ready  to  beckon  or  bring  to  in  some  way,  stood  wait- 
ing his  approach.  At  the  first  door,  a  long,  slouchy  looking 
man,  with  his  knees  bowing  out  considerably  in  advance  of 
his  long  flat  feet,  clap-boarded  with  a  triple  layer  of  patches, 
crowding  the  tobacco  into  a  short,  stumpy  pipe  with  his 
thumbs,  and  giving  vent  at  the  same  time  to  a  sort  of 
muffled  whistle,  as  though  it  was  not  ''  manners"  before 
the  minister  to  let  out  a  right  merry  piping.  Hitched  to 
the  fence  by  a  rope,  stood  a  down-headed  beast,  inno- 
cent of  much  currying,  thonged  to  a  crazy  little  wagon, 
very  decrepit  in  tiring  and  spokes,  in  which  sat  a  little 
sunburnt  urchin,  holding  the  antiquated  reins.  As  the 
carriage  drew  near,  the  sleepy  looking  animal  pricked 
up  its  ears,  and  turned  its  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound,  as  far  as  the  tethering  would  admit.  "Oh,  daddy, 
daddy,  do  come — the  mare  keeps  a  steppin',"  cried  the  boy, 
in  great  alarm. 

The  man  advanced  slowly,  cramming  his  pipe  as  he 
"  sawneyed"  along. 

"  'Spose  they  aint  heerd  nothin'  o'  Austin's  boys,  as  Mr. 
Alden  knows  on  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Ben,  nothing." 

"  Comes  hard  on  Austin ;  that  are  was  a  first-rate  boat 
o'  hisn." 

"By  darn,  daddy,  do  come— I  can't  hold  the  mare," 
whined  the  boy. 

"  Don't  be  oneasy,  Joe,  I  shall  be  along  arter  a  while." 


SEA-SPRAY.  289 

"Poor  human  nature!  Thinking  first  of  a  thing  it 
coveted,"  sighed  the  clergyman,  as  he  moved  along  to 
answer  a  swing  of  the  hand  from  the  next  door.  The  door- 
way was  occupied  by  a  big  burly  woman,  with  scant  hair 
combed  back  and  tied  tightly  behind,  leaving  her  round,  full, 
moon  face  entirely  unshaded,  but  screening  her  eyes  from 
the  sun  with  her  great  round  red  arm,  she  waddled  across 
the  sandy  path  to  shake  hands  with  her  minister,  and  ask 
her  set  of  questions.  Having  done  the  complimentaries,  she 
broached  thus : 

"  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Alden  knows  who's  sick  long  down 
the  road?" 

"  I  do  not." 

"  I  nuther;  but  I  reckon  I  seen  the  Doctor's  horse  and 
shay  a  spell  ago.  I  thought  mebby  Mr.  Alden  knowed. 
Solemn  times,  Mr.  Alden,  down  our  way." 

"  Very  true,  Polly,  very  true — a  distressing  affair." 

"  I  never !  It  does  do  desput,"  and  with  this  lucid  com- 
munication, Polly  returned  to  stand  in  the  doorway  and 
see  who  had  the  honor  of  speaking  to  the  minister  next.  But 
the  attack  seemed  to  be  over  for  the  present ;  doors  and 
windows  were  stuck  full  of  eyes ;  children  peeped  their 
white  heads  round  the  corners  of  the  houses  ;  men  leaned 
against  the  door  jambs,  whistling,  with  their  hats  drawn 
down  over  their  eyes,  very  busy,  and  pretending  not  to 
notice  ;  and  bare-headed  boys  lay  on  their  stomachs,  kick- 
ing up  their  heels  on  the  little  sheds  and  styes  thatched 
with  sea- weed,  spelling  "  hard  words"  very  loud,  and  hoping 
the  minister  heard.  They  had  nearly  gained  the  woods 
again,  when  a  door  banged  open  from  the  shut-up  part  of  a 
house  of  mal-pretension,  and  a  woman  stepped  carefully 
out,  and  waited  for  Mr.  Alden  to  drive  across  the  rough 


290  SEA-SPKAT.    : 

highway,  and  inquire  her  pleasure.  She  was  a  "  pretty- 
wayed,  proper  spoken  person,"  and  seemed  of  the  conse- 
quential class  who  expect  to  be  attended  to,  and  are  sure 
of  their  "  position."  She  was  a  woman  of  "  manners," 
and/'  hoped  she  knew  what  belonged  to  good  behavior." 
So  she  had  to  keep  the  carriage  waiting  in  the  sun,  till  she 
had  done  up  the  "  politeness"  before  she  came  to  the  point. 

"I  was  wishing  to  get  to  town.  Perhaps  Mr.  Alden 
would  not  mind  taking  a  passenger  ?" 

"It  is  not  in  my  power,  Mrs.  Thorn  ;  you  see  I  have  a 
friend  with  me." 

"  Of  course,  I  see.  I  am  not  very  heavy,  though,"  per- 
sisted Mrs.  Thorn. 

"  Very  true ;  but  the  road  is,  and  my  carriage  is  not  light." 

"  It  has  two  seats,"  coolly  remarked  Mrs.  Thorn. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Mr.  Alden,  laughing  ;  "  but  my 
horse  is  not  very  powerful." 

"  He  looks  in  good  flesh.  Did  not  I  see  four  ,in  the  car- 
riage the  other  day  ?" 

"Possibly;  but  they  were  children." 

"  Some  children  are  as  heavy  as  some  grown  folks." 

"  1  am  very  happy,  in  the  case  of  my  own,  to  agree  with 
you,"  said  the  clergyman,  amused  at  the  hint. 

"  Well,  you  can,  at  least,  take  my  bundles,  and  I  will 
try  to  get  up  myself  some  other  way." 

"  Well,  well,  throw  them  in." 

"  But  I  have  not  them  here  ;  they're  down  to  Belden's. 
But  you  need  not  mind  driving  back  half  a  mile ;  there's 
time  enough." 

"  Better  the  budgets  than  their  owner,"  said  Mr.  Alden 
to  his  companion,  preparing  to  wheel  round;  "things  are 
seldom  so  bad  but  they  might  be  worse." 


SEA-SPRAY.  291 

"  Hold  up,  Mr.  Alden,  I'll  jump  in  and  ride  down  with 
you.  It's  a  long  hot  walk  in  the  sand." 

There  was   no   help   for   it,  and   the  lady  climbed  in. 

After  considerable  delay,  to  which  the  calm  pastor  sub- 
mitted with  the  acquiescing  indifference  of  stoicism  as  to 
inevitable  necessity,  the  bundles  were  brought  out,  of  all 
shapes,  sizes,  and  degrees  of  gravity — bags,  budgets,  and 
baskets,  with  a  specific  direction  for  every  one — this  little 
bag  of  dried  blackberries  to^be  left  in  this  place ;  that  big 
bundle  of  wool  to  be  dropped  at  that  place  ;  such  a  great 
rustling  bag  of  sweet  fern  at  another  ;  and  that  basket  of 
"  yellow-sweets"  somewhere  else.  Once  more  on  the  way 
home,  the  good-natured  clergyman  indulged  in  a  hearty 
laugh,  in  which  his  quiet  companion  was  fain  to  join  him. 

"  A  pretty  time  I  should  have,  meandering  about  the 
street  distributing  all  this  trash.  I  shall  do  no  such  thing. 
1  shall  just  tumble  it  all  out  at  the  first  place,  which,  as  it 
happens,  is  close  on  our  path." 

Without  further  molestation,  the  travelers  reached  home, 
only  halting  once  to  eject  Mrs.  Thorn's  trumpery.  Ernest 
was  anxiously  awaiting  his  father's  return,  hoping  more 
than  he  was  aware  of,  till  he  felt  how  keen  was  his  disap- 
pointment. 

"  How  did  dear,  good  Mr.  Austin  bear  it,  papa  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  As  a  father  must,  Ernest,  and  as  a  Christian  should.  He 
asked  affectionately  after  you,  and.  hoped  you  would  feel 
better.  He  set  me  an  example  I  feel  I  should  fall  far  short 
of,  in  his  meek  submission  to  his  Maker's  will." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

LYMAN  BEECHER  BROWN  and  Jim  Austin,  with  little 
Steenie,  bounding  along  in  his  new  shoes,  and  trying  to 
step  as  wide  and  as  fast  as  Jim,  went  laughing  and  singing 
on  their  way  towards  Dick's,  to  get  Lyme's  basket  before 
they  went  to  the  field.  They  found  Mary  setting  the 
house  in  order,  and  singing  cheerfully  about  her  work, 
practising  the  last  new  tune,  preparatory  to  the  singing 
meeting  in  the  evening — a  little  festival  in  the  quiet  and 
laborious  life  of  the  artless  girl.  Judy  was  sitting  on  the 
door-sill,  enjoying  the  shade  and  the  scented  air  from  the 
clover  fields  near,  with  her  everlasting  knitting-work  on 
her  lap,  admiring  a  new  snuff-box  which  she  had  just  pur- 
chased, because  it  had  such  a  "  pretty  face  on  the  lid." 
Lyme  hunted  up  his  basket,  and,  after  having  made  a 
maiauding  descent  upon  the  pantry,  filling  his  pockets 
with  Mary's  fresh  "  tea-cakes,"  prepared  to  march  off,  when 
Judy  called  him  to  come  and  see  what  she  had  bought  for 
him  of  a  trunk  pedlar. 

"  I  want  you  should  read  the  varses  for  your  granny, 
Lyme,  and  then  you  may  have  it,"  said  Judy,  displaying, 
with  infinite  satisfaction,  a  great  red  and  black  cotton 
handkerchief,  bearing  a  representation  of  the  "  Cotter's 
family,"  with  elucidating  stanzas  from  the  "  Saturday 
Night." 


SEA-SPRAY. '  293 

"  Oh,  blame  the  thing  !  I  can't,  granny.  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"  Yes,  you  kin  ;  I  say  you  shill.  Come,  now,  Lyme, 
just  read  a  little  out  for  granny — now  do,"  coaxed  Judy. 

"  I'll  read  it  for  you,  Judy,"  said  Jim,  spreading  out  the 
great  glaring  sheet,  and  beginning  to  read  and  point  out 
the  personages.  But  Lyme  caught  the  handkerchief  in  a 
rough,  boyish  manner,  and  ran  shouting  away  with  it ; 
and  Jim  and  Steenie  followed,  leaving  Judy  exclaiming, 
"  our  Lyme's  a  sassy  varmint.  Well,  boys  is  boys,  I 
consate,  now-a-days,  with  all  their  districk  and  sabby-day- 
schools,  jist  as  much  as  they  useter  was.  They  don't  larn 
no  manners  to  boast  on,  's  I  see." 

"  I  say,  Jim,  we'd  better  go  to  the  boat  first,  and  get  that 
blanket,  and  carry  it  up  with  us  to  the  lot,  before  we  begin 
at  the  blackberries." 

Jim  agreed,  and  they  turned  their  faces  to  the  shore. 
The  boat  was  afloat,  fastened  to  a  stake  on  the  beach,  and 
Lyme  volunteered  to  wade  out  and  get  the  article  of  which 
they  were  in  pursuit.  He  found  the  refreshing  coolness  of 
the  water  rather  pleasant  after  his  long  run  in  the  sun  and 
sand,  so  he  called  Jim  to  join  him.  But  Jim  objected 
that  the  water  was  deep  for  Steenie  to  venture  into.  Lyme 
obviated  that  difficulty  at  once,  by  coming  back  and  taking 
Steenie  on  his  shoulders  to  the  boat.  There  was  no  diffi- 
culty or  apparent  danger  in  what  they  had  done.  They 
sat  down  to  rest  and  partake  of  Lyme's  cakes  ;  then  came 
out  the  great  red  and  black  handkerchief,  and,  with  their 
heads  over  it,  reading,  and  expatiating,  and  explaining  to 
Steenie,  time  passed  unheeded,  and  in  their  engrossing  in- 
terest, they  forgot  everything  besides. 

Suddenly,   Lyme   looked   up,   and    turned    his   glance 


294  SEA-SPRAT. 

landward ;  the  shore  was  an  unfordable  'distance  behind 
them. 

"  By  thunder !  Jim,  we're  adrift !"  exclaimed  he,  with  eyes 
dilating  with  terror,  and  arms  stretched  out  hopelessly  to- 
wards the  shore. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  Lyme  ?"  asked  Jim.  "  How  fast  we 
are  getting  off  shore !  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Do,  indeed !  nothing,  but  go  down  the  bay,  and  no  help 
for  it.  Oh,  if  I  only  had  an  oar  or  a  pole !  anything  that 
was  a  stick !"  and  Lyme  looked  despairingly  over  the  boat ; 
there  was  nothing  he  could  make  available,  and  he  set  his 
teeth,  breathing  thick  and  short,  as  the  utter  helplessness  of 
their  position  became  a  settled  certainty  to  his  perceptions. 
He  looked  at  Jim,  with  a  look  which  said,  as  plainly  as 
look  could,  "  we  are  gone,  Jim,  for  all  we  can  do  ourselves." 
And  Jim  looked  at  Steenie  with  a  sad  and  troubled  expres- 
sion, and  Steenie  saw  that  something  was  wrong,  and  was 
beginning  to  look  bewildered  and  terrified. 

"  Keep  it  out  of  his  thoughts,  if  you  can,  Jim  :  make  as 
if  'twas  all  play.  If  he  begins  to  cry,  I'll  shall  give  up." 

"  I  shan't  deceive  poor  dear  little  Steenie  ;  he'll  bear  it 
like  a  man,  if  I  tell  him  just  the  whole  truth,"  said  Jim,  re- 
solutely. "  I  can't  tell  nor  act  a  lie,  with  death  so  near,  Ly- 
man.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  save  him !" 

"  What  have  you  come  way  off  here  for,  Jim  ?  won't 
father  be  angry  with  you  ?" 

"  We  could  not  help  it,  Steenie  ;  the  stake  drawed  out, 
and  we've  drifted  off;  and  what's  worse,  Steenie,  we  can't 
get  back." 

Jim's  courage  failed  him  when  he  looked  back,  and  saw 
how  fast  the  distance  was  widening,  widening,  widening, 
and  still  widening,  between  them  and  the  shore.  "  How 
strong  the  tide^sets,  Lyme !  is  it  always  so  ?" 


SEA-SPBAY.  295 

"  I've  heard  old  folks  say  there  was  a  wonderful  strong 
current  through  here.  Don't  you  remember,  not  long  ago, 
how  Indian  Talkhouse  drifted  clean  to  Block  Island  ?  I 
tell  you  what,  Jim,  we're  in  a  fix,  no  mistake." 

Jim  turned,  and  looked  toward  the  other  shore. 

"  It's  no  use,  Jim,  looking  that  way,  the  tide  will  set  us 
wide  enough  o'  Garner's  Island." 

"When  will  they  miss  us  from  home,  do  you  think, 
Lyme  ?"  asked  Jim,  considering  the  chances  of  being  pur- 
sued. 

"  What'  time  will  your  father  get  home  ?  He'll  come 
down  to  the  shore  to  haul  up  the  boat,  and  then — " 

And  then  !  The  thought  was  too  mighty  for  Jim,  and  he 
broke  into  passionate  weeping. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Lyme,  "  he'll  know  in  a  minute 
what's  happened,  and  somebody'll  be  after  us." 

"  But  it  will  be  dark  night  before  he  gets  home ;  it  was 
late  when  he  went.  We  shall  be  far  enough  out  of  reach  or 
sight  before  that  time ;"  and  Jim's  heart  failed  him  again,  as 
he  looked  back,  in  thought,  upon  his  pleasant  home.  He 
thought  of  his  mother  sitting  so  unconsciously  in  her  ac- 
customed place  ;  he  could  see  her  sad,  pale  face,  as  she  sat 
alone  over  her  se/ving,  and  his  thoughts  ran  on  to  the  time 
when  they  should  be  missed.  He  saw  the  first  alarm,  the  in- 
creasing dismay,  the  search,  the  anguish,  the  despair !  Oh, 
how  it  all  came  up  to  his  mind's  eye  ! — how  vividly,  how 
distinctly, — home,  and  its  busy  sunset  hour  ! 

He  remembered  that  he  was  depended  upon  to  bring 
tome  the  cows ;  the  hope  struck  him, — they  would  miss 
him  then !  there  was  one  little  chance  more.  He  looked 
back  the  way  they  had  come,  but  as  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
there  was  nothing  afloat  on  the  bay.  He  saw  that  they 


296  SEA-SPllAY. 

were  leaving  Gardiner's  Island  behind  them,  on  the 
left,  and  he  knew,  oh !  how  well,  that  day  was  decli- 
ning. 

"  How  near  shall  we  come  to  Montauk,  Lyman  ?"  he 
tremblingly  inquired. 

"Not  so  near  as  we  should  like  to,  I'm  afraid,  Jim,  for 
that's  our  last  chance.  If  we  don't  fetch  Montauk,  it's  all 
over  with  us  ;  we  shall  go  to  sea,  if  we  don't  swamp  in  the 
breakers  when  we  meet  the  ocean." 

Steenie  sat  motionless  and  silent,  looking  at  the  seeming- 
ly flitting  trees  and  fences  on  the  shore  as  they  drifted  sea- 
ward, very  pale  and  certainly  alarmed,  but  courageous  and 
calm.  Now  he  spoke,  nestling  close  to  Jim,  in  a  soft,  trem- 
ulous voice  : 

"  There's  nobody  to  pick  up  the  chips  for  mother,  and 
get  in  the  kindlings  to-night,  Jim !  What  wilKshe  do  without 
us,  Jim,  when  night  comes?" 

Jim  drew  Steenie  close  to  him,  and  clasping  his  arms 
around  him,  mourned  and  wept  over  him ;  but  Steenie 
was  calm,  and  he  tried  to  comfort  Jim  with  words  of 
hope. 

"Oh,  don't  cry,. Jim  !  we  shall  be  finded.  The  Great 
God  will  take  care  of  us ;  and  he  will  send  somebody  in  a 
nice  boat  to  carry  us  home.  Don't  cry,  Jim,  don't." 

"  Oh,  dear,  darling  little  Steenie,  if  you  was  only  safe  at 
home  with  father  and  mother,  I  could  bear  it  myself.  But 
what  will  you  do,  with  nothing  to  keep  you  comfortable, 
and  drifting  away  off  in  the  dark  night,  into  the  wild,  wide 
sea  ?  Oh,  Steenie,  dear,  blessed  little  Steenie,  if  you  were 
only  at  home  to  comfort  poor  mother  and  father !  How  lone- 
some he  will  be !  Oh  !  what  will  they  do  without  us  ? 
What  will  they  have  to  comfort  them  for  this  ?" 


SEA-SPRAY.  297 

Jim's  tears  flowed   afresh  at  these  rushing  thoughts,  and 
Steenie  said : 

"  Don't  cry,  brother  Jim,  don't  cry,"  with  the  tears  roll- 
ing silently  in  big  drops  over  his  own  cheeks. 

Lyme  said  but  little :  thought  was  busy  within  him,  and 
hope  was  ebbing  fast ;  but  he  was  more  mature  in  the  rough 
ways  of  life ;  more  steady,  where  he  could  see  any  chance 
to  battle  with  obstacles,  and  older  by  several  years  than 
his  companions;  he  felt  in  some  measure  that  he  was 
responsible,  so  he  tried  to  behave,  and  by  a  show  of  courage 
to  cheer  them  all  he  could,  and  he  spoke  as  firmly  as  his 
beating  heart  would  let  him  : 

"We  must  be  easy  and  still  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and  keep  her  on  an  even  keel.  'Taint  so  dreadful,  after  all ! 
She'd  float  always  in  such  still  weather  as  this.  If  the 
wind  should  blow  up,  though,  Jim  !" 

Jim  knew  very  well,  that  if  the  wind  should  blow  up, 
it  would  be  th'e  worse  for  them  ;  but  he  was  getting  a  little 
familiarized  to  their  situation.  The  first  appalling  shock  of 
feeling  that  they  were  in  danger,  had  passed,  and  his  spirit 
began  to  rise  from  its  paralyzing  effects.  Hours  and  hours 
sped  away,  still  they  were  drifted  on,  helpless,  hope- 
less, on — on — on,  toward  the  roaring  sea.  Daylight  had 
faded  away  over  the  bay,  and  the  last  faint  glow  went  out 
over  the  land  where  lay  their  far  off  home.  The  blanket, 
now,  was  a  very  important  consideration ;  they  care- 
fully wrapped  Steenie  in  it,  and  drew  closer  together,  for 
the  air  blew  cold  over  that  dismal,  dark  waste  of  waters. 
One  by  one  the  bright  stars  came  forth,  in  the  clear,  blue 
sky,  glancing  and  dancing  in  the  rippling  waters  as  the 
little  boat  glided  through  them.  Soon  the  whole  heaven 
was  studded,  and  the  wide  waters  sprinkled  with  sparkling 

13 


298  SEA-SPKAY. 

lights,  still  they  floated  on,  away,  away,  farther  and  far- 
ther from  home  and  hope,  from  cherishing  hearts,  helping 
hands,  and  shielding,  sheltering  love.  Colder  and  colder 
came  the  evening  ocean  damps,  closer  and  closer  to  each 
other  crept  those  helpless  boys ;  rougher  and  rougher  came 
the  long,  heaving  swell ;  heavier  and  heavier  fell  those 
sinking  hearts ;  faster  and  faster,  and  farther,  kept  their 
little  bark  floating  on.  Steenie  strained  his  arms,  with  a 
little  shudder,  in  a  tighter  clasp  round  Jim,  and  lifted  his 
tearful  blue  eyes  to  his  : 

"  Sing,  Jim,  that  we  need  rnot  hear  the  roaring  waters. 
Sing  a  pretty  hymn  ;  it  will  do  us  good  ?" 

"  Can  you  sing,  Lyme  ?  I'm  afraid  J  can't ;  but  I'll  try, 
because  Steenie  likes  it,  if  you  will  help  me." 

"  What  shall  we  sing  ?"  asked  Lyme.  "  I  don't  know 
words  as  well  as  tunes." 

Lyme  cleared  his  voice,  and  began  to  hum  snatches  of 
tunes,  the  thought  of  Mary  choking  all  the  music  out  of 
his  throat ;  but  he  persevered  for  Steenie's  sake,  and  his 
notes  rose  loud  over  the  dark  waters,  the  sounds  inspiring 
courage  as  he  went  on. 

"  Come,  Steenie,  what  shall  we  sing?" 

"  Sing  '  Darkness,'  brother  Jim,  will  you.  ?"  said  Stee- 
nie. 

"  I  will  try,  darling,  good  little  Steenie  :  wait  a  minute." 

"I  don't  know  the  words," said  Lyme,  "  but  I'll  just  keep 
along  with  the  tune." 

There  was  less  of  tenderness,  and  more  of  terror,  in 
Lyme's  emotions  than  in  Jim's,  and  his  voice  rising  strong 
and  clear,  served  to  cover  the  tremulous,  broken  sinkings 
of  Jim's,  as  they  struggled  through  Steenie's  chosen 
hymn. 


SEA-SPRAT.  299 

Darkness  o'er  the  deep  is  stealing, 

Home's  afar,  and  hope  grows  dim  ; 
But  with  God  is  help  and  healing  ; 

Let  us  lift  our  hearts  to  him  ! 

There's  a  sleepless  eye  that  sees  us, 

There's  a  friend  forever  nigh ; 
In  thy  name,  oh,  blessed  Jesus ! 

To  that  Friend  we  lift  our  cry. 

For  no  earthly  aid  is  near  us, 

In  this  dark,  dread  hour  of  need ; 
God  above,  oh !  help  us,  hear  us  ! 

Or  we  perish  as  we  plead. 

Oh  !  if  death's  cold  clasp  enchain  us 

'Neath  these  waters,  lost,  and  lone, 
For  the  crimson  sins  that  stain  us, 

Saviour,  let  thy  blood  atone. 

Night  is  closing  fast  before  us, 

Tossing  on  this  surging  sea: 
If  the  whelming  waves  come  o'er  us, 

Father !  take  us  home  to  Thee. 

The  voices  of  the  singers  ceased,  and  the  sounds  died 
away ;  but  the  effort  had  been  salutary,  it  had  com- 
posed and  cheered  them.  Lyme  drew  out  his  new  hand- 
kerchief to  wrap  about  Steenie,  and  with  it  came  a  crowd 
of  swarming  memories  of  home,  and  Mary,  of  his  grand- 
parents, misguided  perchance  and  vicious,  but  full  of  in- 
dulgent affection  for  him,  of  all  whose  kindness  had  made 
his  poor  home  happy.  His  heart  swelled  with  sor- 
row, as  he  thought  with  bitter  contrition  of  all  his  short- 
comings, and  failings  in  duty,  and  words  of  disrespect  and 
unkindness,  and  little  thoughtless  freaks  of  mischief  and 


300  SEA-SPRAY. 

disobedience.  He  would  have  given  worlds  to  re- 
call them,  or  to  seek  forgiveness  of  those  against  whom 
they  were  committed.  It  was  too  late  now,  too  late ! 

"  Lyme,  I  little  thought  when  Miss  Caroline  taught  me 
to  sing  that  hymn,  that  I  should  ever  sing  it  in  such  a  time 
as  this — alone  with  you  and  Steenie  on  the  wide,  dreary 
sea.  Oh,  we  never  know  what's  before  us !" 

"  How  come  she  to  learn  it  to  you,  Jim  ?  It  does  as  if 
she  knew  beforehand.  Did  she  make  it  o'  purpose  for  you, 
Jim?" 

"  Oh  no !  she  wrote  it  for  her  brother,  Hull,  when  he  was 
going  to  sea  once,  long,  long  ago ;  before  I  was  born." 

"Oh,  Jim,  how  I  wish  I  had  read  the  verses  to  poor 
granny.  I  am  sorry  now,  Jim.  Poor  granny !  She  was 
always  kind  to  me.  She'd  do  without  anything,  to  let  me 
have  what  I  wanted.  Granny  was  good,  Jim,  when  she 
was  granny,  you  know  ;  and  grandfer,  he  was  always 
clever,  and  good-natured  to  me  and  Mary.  He  never 
struck  me  a  blow  in  his  life,  or  hardly  gave  me  a  short 
word.  Poor  dear  grandfer  !  Who'll  help  him  out  and  in 
the  wagon  now  ?" 

Lyme  bowed  his  head  upon  Jim's  shoulder,  and  wept 
aloud,  as  the  thought  of  his  distant  home,  and  its  decrepit 
and  desolate  inmates,  came  over  him. 

"  Oh,  Jim,  Jim,  what  a  time  they're  having  there  now ; 
and  Mary  !  What  will  she  do  ?  What  will  she  do  ?" 

And  again  the  boy  wept  in  uncontrollable  grief. 

"  It's  dreadful  to  think  of  what  they  are  feeling  at  home 
now,  Lyme.  That's  the  worst  part  of  it  to  me.  It  seems 
to  me  if  Steenie  was  only  safe  at  home,  that  it  would  not 
be  much  for  me  ;  but  it  would  be  hard  to  go  down  under 
the  dark  waters  any  way.  We  can't  change  things  now, 
Lyme  ?" 


SEA-SPEAY.  801 

"  Oh,  I  only  wish  I'd  done  what  granny  asked  me  to  ; 
but  I  did'nt  mean  to  be  wicked  to  her,  Jim,  only  I  did  hate 
you  should  see  her  just  as  she  was  then  !  Do  you  think 
that  was  breaking  the  Commandment  about  honoring  our 
father  and  mother  ?  Can  you  say  it,  Jim  ?" 

Jim  repeated  the  fifth  Commandment. 

"  There  'tis,  Jim.  Is  that  the  reason  my  days  are  to  be 
cut  short?  That  can't  be  it,  for  here's  you  and  Steenie  ; 
you  haint  broke  that  Commandment." 

"You  don't  know  that,  Lyme.  I  knew,  just  as  well 
as  if  they  had  told  me,  that  they  would  not  let  us  wade  off 
to  the  boat  with  Steenie  ;  but  I  did  it.  Was  that  honoring 
my  father  and  mother  ?  No,  no,  Lyme,  I  knew  I  was 
doing  wrong.  And  here  we  are  to  pay  for  it.  Oh,  if  it 
was  not  that  Steenie's  here  !" 

"  Jim,  do  you  know  all  the  Commandments  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  do,  Lyme  ;  it's  one  thing  to  know  'em, 
and  another  to  keep  'em.  Aint  it  worse  to  do  wrong  when 
we  know  what  right  is  all  the  time  ?" 

"  Say  them  all,  Jim,  if  you  know  'em." 

Jim  said  all  the  Commandments,  Steenie  going  along 
with  him  when  he  could. 

"  Now,  say  the  Lord's  Prayer,  Jim." 

Jim  and  Steenie  said  that  too,  the  tears  flowing,  as  Jim 
remembered  how  often  in  the  still  twilight  he  had  knelt  by 
his  bedside,  and  repeated  it  after  his  mother's  prompt- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  1  wish  I  knew  as  many  good  things  as  you  do  ;  but 
it's  my  own  fault  that  I  don't.  Many  and  many's  the 
time  that  Mary  has  tried  to  get  me  to  learn  my  catechise  ; 
but  I  wouldn't.  I  don't  know  as  much  as  little,  good  Stee- 
nie here.  Poor  little  fellow  !" 


302  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  can  say,  '  Now  I  lay  me,'  Lyme,  if  you  want  me  to  ; 
but  I  can't  kneel  here,  as  I  do  with  mother,  because  it  will 
make  the  boat  rock." 

Steenie  folded  his  hands,  and  looking  devoutly  up  to  the 
clear,  starry  heavens,  repeated  his  simple  prayer. 

"You  won't  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  now,  Steenie,  and 
Lyme  and  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

"  God  will  take  care  of  me,  Jim.  Mother  said  so.  You 
needn't  keep  awake.  God's  always  awake." 

"  That's  true,  Steenie.  Snuggle  down  close  to  us  and 
keep  warm,  darling,  little,  good  brother ;  now  go  to  sleep. 
Lyme  and  I  ain't  sleepy  yet." 

Steenie  closed  his  eyes,  in  the  perfect  trust  that  God 
would  take  care  of  him ;  and  Jim  felt  that  there  was  pro- 
tection in  his  innocent  presence.  Slumber  stole  over  the 
helpless  child  as  he  lay  closely  encircled  in  Jim's  yearning 
embrace,  the  tears  flowed  over  him  like  rain,  and  the 
protecting  arms  were  tightened  with  a  shudder,  as  the 
brave  boy  thought  what,  and  how  soon,  might  be  his  next 
fearful  awakening.  The  moon  had  arisen,  and  the  scene 
was  bright,  and  calm,  and  beautiful,  as  they  looked  out 
upon  it.  But  the  last  ray  of  hope  faded  from  Jim's  heart 
as  he  lifted  his  head,  and  through  the  blinding  tears,  saw 
Montauk  light  shining  far  behind  him. 

"  1  saw  it  some  time  ago,"  said  Lyme,  in  reply  to  Jim's 
exclamation,  "but  I  didn't  like  to  tell  you.  We've  no  more 
to  do,  but  keep  as  still  as  we  can,  and  say  our  prayers. 
Oh,  if  I  only  knew  how  to  pray  !  Jim,  can't  you  pray  ? 
It's  a  dreadful  thing,  Jim,  to  live  so  long  in  the  world  as  I 
have,  and  not  to  know  how  to  pray  when  I'm  going  out  of 
it  Oh,  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us!" 

"That's  a  prayer,  Lyme.     Don't  you  remember  what 


SEA-SPRAY.  803 

was  in  our  Testament  reading  lesson  this  morning  ?  How 
the  Publican  stood  afar  off  and  cried,  '  Lord,  be  merciful  to 
me,  a  sinner  ?'  " 

"  Aint  we  '  afar  off,'  Jim  ?  '  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me,  a 
sinner.' " 

Steenie  slept  peacefully  in  Jim's  embrace,  and  Jim  bent 
over  him  in  tearful,  speechless  tenderness,  and  still  as  they 
drifted  on  and  on,  Lyme's  cry  went  up  in  terror  and  des- 
pair : 

"  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  long  miserable  hours  of  that  first  dreadful  day  crept 
on,  but  no  comforting  gleam  broke  through  the  gloom  that 
shrouded  the  home  of  Isaac  Austin.  The  first  rush  of 
sympathizing,  inquiring,  and  curious  neighbors  was  over  ; 
enduring  kindness,  sitting  silently  by,  saying  nothing  of  the 
"duty  of  being  resigned,"  or  "  the  onreasonable  sin  of  tak- 
ing on,"  was  with  them  still.  Those  who  came  to  "  drop 
in  a  spell  and  keep  them  company,"  just  at  the  hour  of 
meals,  while  aching  hearts  and  trembling  hands  waited 
upon  them,  had  "eat  supper,"  and  gone  to  tell  a  long  gos- 
sipping  story  of  how  "  Ailsie  did  but  do,"  or  how  "  Mr. 
Isaac  was  the  supportedest  man  ;  he  was  a  patent  of  a 
man." 

Austin  had  been  to  the  shore  to  examine  such  evidence 
as  could  be  gathered  from  circumstances,  and  he  came 
home  with  his  mind  relieved  on  one  point,  saying  to  his 
wife: 

"I  am  satisfied,  Ailsie,  that  it  wasn't  done  in  mischief; 
the  poor  children  went  by  our  orders — they  didn't  untie 
the  boat.  I  thought  it  was  strange  they  should  dare  do 
that.  The  water  was  deep  where  she  would  naturally  drift 
to  at  that  time  of  the  tide  ;  they'd  be  obliged  to  wade  out 
to  get  the  blanket;  the  strain  on  her,  after  they  got  in, 


SEA-SPKAY.  305 

drawed  out  the  stake ;  it  wasn't  drove  very  firm,  just  to 
hold  her  when  she  was  light.  I  see  how  it  was  all  done, 
just  as  well  as  if  I  hai  been  there.  Lyme  must  have 
backed  Steenie;  she  drifted  aways  before  they  observed  it, 
and  in  their  fright  and  trying  to  get  back,  she  dipped  and 
filled.  They'd  a  shouted  and  swung.  Somebody  must  have 
seen  and  heard  them  at  that  time  of  day — if  it  had  not  all 
been  over  very  quick.  Their  precious  little  bodies  aint 
far  off  shore." 

Austin  paused :  the  thought  was  too  appalling  for  the 
father,  self-controlling  though  he  was ; — there  was  deep, 
strong  feeling  beneath  that  calm  seeming. 

"It's  better,  mother,  than  if  they  had  run  away,  and 
met  their  death  in  an  act  of  disobedience.  Let  us  be  thank- 
ful for  that  comfort:  to  me  it's  a  great- comfort." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boys !"  groaned  the  mother.  "  I  sent  them 
— I  sent  them  away  from  me  forever." 

"Not  forever,  Ailsie — not  forever;  does  not  our  Bible 
teach  us  a  happier  trust  than  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  dreadful  word  '  never!'  what  a  new  meaning 
it  has  to  my  heart  now !  Never  to  see  Jim's  bright  eyes 
lifted  to  mine  again  ;  never  to  hear  his  sweet  voice  reading 
his  lessons,  or  singing  at  his  play  ;  never  to  hear  Steenie's 
little  pattering  steps,  or  to  see  his  dear  curly  head,  with  its 
silky  brown  locks  and  soft  blue  eyes.  Never  more  !  Always 
alone,  to  stretch  out  my  longing  arms  to  clasp  them,  and 
bring  them  home  empty,  to  crush  my  own  heart." 

"  We  must  not  listen  to  such  thoughts,  Ailsie.  I  know  it 
is  hard  to  put  them  away.  I  know  how  naturally  they 
come ;  I  know  they  will  come ;  but  we  must  not  cherish 
them  ;  it  is  unprofitable — it  unfits  us  for  our  duties.  The 
Lord  has  work,  Ailsie,  for  all  the  living  to  do,  and  he  re- 

13* 


806  SEA-SPRAY. 

quires  them  to  do  it  diligently.  We  must  look  to  Him,  in 
this  our  hour  of  trial,  for  strength  and  patience  to  do  what 
he  sees  fit  to  put  into  our  hands,  and  to  bear  what,  in  his 
wisdom,  he  lays  upon  our  hearts.  Mourn  we  must ;  it  is 
right  that  we  should,  this  unlocked  for  separation  from  our 
children  ;  but,  while  we  mourn,  we  can  look  forward  in 
confidence  to  meeting  our  lambs,  'gone,  not  lost,'  where 
tears  and  partings  shall  come  to  us  never  more." 

"  But  it  is  so  long  to  wait :  so  long.  When  I  think, 
Isaac,  how  ages  on  ages  the  faithful  have  slept  in  the  dust, 
waiting — waiting — waiting,  and  how  many  long,  long  ages 
yet  to  come  we  may  have  to  wait — oh,  it  seems  so  dreary 
and  discouraging.  Must  I,  too,  wait  and  weary,  and  wait 
still,  ages  on  ages,  before  I  see  those  forms  and  features 
again  ?  How  can  .1 — how  can  I V 

"  Let  her  alone,  Uncle  Austin,  there's  no  reasoning  away 
grief  like  hers — let  it  relieve  itself  in  words,"  said  Anna, 
gently,  as  her  Aunt  walked  hurriedly  about,  in  a  burst  of 
more  than  ordinary  excitement. 

Austin  sought  not  to  restrain,  but  he  would  fain  have 
suggested  quieting  and  comforting  considerations  to  his 
suffering  wife.  He  shared  too  deeply  in  her  sorrow  to  re- 
prove it,  but  it  had  been  one  of  his  duties  to  visit  and  pray 
with  the  sick,  the  afflicted,  and  the  dying.  He  used  al- 
most mechanically  the  language  of  common-place  condo- 
lence, feeling  in  his  own  conscious  heart,  that  no  words  of 
comfort,  that  no  arguments — (however  Scriptural  or  ortho- 
dox, so  far  as  doctrinal  belief  went) — that  nothing  that  man 
could  offer,  could  reach,  with  balm  and  healing,  that  fresh, 
quivering  wound. 

He  felt  how  powerless,  when  turned  upon  his  own  heart, 
were  all  the  weapons  with  which  he  had  been  accustomed 


SEA-SPRAY.  307 

to  combat  and  preach  down  the  sorrows  of  others  ;  he  ac- 
knowledged how  much  more  easily  he  could  find  solace  for 
them  than  for  himself. 

There  was  so  much  to  agonize — so  full  of  melting  asso- 
ciations was  the  house ;  every  shelf,  and  drawer,  and  closet, 
every  spot  in  and  around  the  house,  was  teeming  with  ob- 
jects, starting  up  at  every  turn. 

Here  was  the  package,  never  opened,  containing  the 
cloth  for  their  jackets,  the  black  ribbon  for  their  hats,  the 
hats  themselves,  brought  out  to  be  banded,  the  books  for 
Jim,  the  coveted  knife  for  Steenie.  There,  as  everywhere, 
the  world  was  darkened  to  the  grieving  heart :  the  sun- 
shine and  all  the  glad  creatures  that  basked  in  it,  the  joy 
and  the  gladness  of  the  whole  earth,  were  a  dull  mockery, 
from  which  the  spirit  turned,  sickening,  away.  How,  as 
the  day  waned,  had  every  hour  been  noted  with  the  aggra- 
vating comparison,  "  yesterday,  at  this  time,"  "  last  week,  at 
this  lime."  Ah  !  everybody  knows,  few  need  to  read  or  be 
told,  the  diary  of  a  bereaved  household. 

The  soft,  balmy  evening  had  come  again  in  its  stillness, 
breathless,  without  a  cloud,  with  its  cool,  refreshing  dews 
reviving  every  languid  thing  but  the  restless,  aching 
hearts  that  looked  out  upon  the  scene.  The  business 
of  the  day  was  over,  and  the  inmates  of  Isaac  Austin's 
house  were  gathered  to  its  shelter.  Ailsie  stood  at  the 
open  door  and  looked  out  upon  the  night :  there  was 
no  sound,  save  the  shrill  notes  of  the  locusts  chirping 
on  the  trees,  and  far  off  toward  the  bay,  a  lone  whip- 
poorwill  complainingly  telling  his  tale  to  the  stars.  Ailsie 
heard  nothing  but  the  mournful  murmuring  of  the  bay, 
as  its  little  wavelets  came  rippling  in,  and  broke  with 
a  sighing  plash  upon  the  beach.  Oh,  how  that  whispering 


308  SEA-SPRAY. 

voice  from  the  waters  came  on  her  ears  with  a  language 
unheard  till  now ! 

She  closed  the  door  and  turned  away.  But  a  strange, 
indefinable  feeling  like  self-reproach  came  over  her  heart. 
She  had  cruelly  shut  the  door  against  the  shelterless  heads 
of  her  boys !  With  a  pang  she  could  not  speak,  she  set 
open  the  door,  and  turned  to  her  seat  by  the  window. 
There,  gleaming  in  the  light  of  the  new  risen  moon,  stood 
Steenie's  corn,  its  long,  pendant  leaves  wet  with  the  dew, 
and  the  welcomed  spindle  of  yesterday,  hanging  its  beaded 
tassels  heavy  with  its  tears.  Carlo  was  still  keeping  his 
watch  by  Steenie's  cap,  coming,  when  he  was  called,  to  his 
food  ;  listening  sometimes  for  a  moment,  with  an  impatient 
whine,  at  the  bed-room  door,  and  then  lying  down  to  his 
voluntary  watch  over  the  treasured  relic  of  his  loving 
little  companion  and  friend. 

Night  was  deepening;  the  diminished  circle  drew  closer 
together  around  the  family  altar ;  the  customary  devotional 
exercises  were  gone  through  with,  composedly  ;  the  tearful 
good-night  was  spoken,  and  the  household  was  still.  The 
clock  in  the  corner,  standing  in  its  dark  mahogany  case,  as 
it  had  stood  ticking  away  the  minutes  and  hours  of  departed 
generations,  still  kept  ticking  on  the  same  unvarying  tale, 
"  gone — gone — gone — gone." 

But  weeping,  and  watching,  and  weariness,  must  rest 
at  last ;  heavy  sleep  settled  on  the  languid  eyes ;  aching 
hearts  forgot  awhile  their  dreariness,  to  awake  ere 
long,  and  ask  of  themselves,  in  the  bewildered  wretched- 
ness of  returning  consciousness — "  Can  this  be  even  so, 
or  was  it  perchance  a  dream  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  IF  I  could  get  this  pain  away  from  my  heart ;  if  I  could 
think  of  things  not  so  sad  ;  if  I  could  only  go  to  sleep,  and 
not  dream  of  those  poor  boys,  I  should  be  so  glad,"  said 
Ernest,  mournfully,  after  having  tried  in  vain  to  take 
some  interest  in  his  books,  or  find  some  occupation  that 
would  amuse  him.  His  strength  was  waning  fast,  under 
the  oppression  of  his  grief  and  self-reproach  for  the  loss  of 
his  little  friends.  Evelyn  took  him  out  daily  to  ride,  seek- 
ing every  change,  and  studying  constantly  to  cheer  and 
amuse  him.  Every  effort  was  thankfully  and  smilingly 
met,  but  it  was  useless — he  could  fiol  forget.  Ada  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  her  own  troubles  in  her  anxiety  for  her 
child.  She  rode  with  him,  whenever  he  went  out,  venturing 
boldly  wherever  he  inclined  to  go.  Gentle,  assiduous,  af- 
fectionate, her  whole  deportment  seemed  changed,  and  the 
shadow  which  had  lowered  between  her  and  her  husband 
was  banished  and  forgotten.  Was  her  heart  occupied,  or 
had  she  learned  caution  ?  It  was  sufficient ;  she  was  the 
sweet,  loving  Ada  of  old. 

"  Papa,"  said  Ernest,  "  I  thought  Clarence  was  coming 
to  see  us  :  I  wish  he  would  come.  The  sight  of  his  dear, 
kind  face,  would  be  worth  all  the  medicines  in  the  world." 


310  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  It  is  time  to  hear  from  him  again  ;  then,  if  he  does  not 
say  anything  about  coming  soon,  I  will  write  and  bring 
him,  if  you  wish." 

"  If  he  don't  come  pretty  soon,  papa," — Ernest  did  not 
finish  the  sentence,  but  the  trembling  heart  of  his  father 
felt  its  meaning.  The  next  day  the  expected  letter  from 
De  Koven  came,  full  of  kind  expressions  of  sympathy  in 
Evelyn's  sorrow,  with  an  inclosure  of  light-hearted  rattling 
nonsense  for  Ernest's  amusement.  Evelyn  sat  down  by 
Ernest's  bed-side,  and  carefully  avoiding  all  painful  allu- 
sions to  himself,  read  such  passages  from  his  letters  as  he 
thought  would  interest  him. 

"  1  am  wandering  about  the  country,"  wrote  De  Koven, 
"  I  scarcely  know  why,  for  I  take  little  interest  in  the  follies 
and  frivolities  of  the  moving,  fashionable  world.  I  cannot 
enjoy  their  heartless  conventionalities.  I  seek  in  vain  for 
cordial  companionship,  in  the -cold,  hollow  formalities  of 
their  social  intercourse.  I  turn  with  a  true  sailor's  contempt 
from  such  fellowship,  from  their  lewd  acquaintanceship,  and 
white  kid  finger-tipping  friendships.  There  is  so  much 
display,  so  much  puppet  parade  and  drilled  mano2uvring, 
so  much  too  perceptible  machinery  in  everything — so  much 
fuss-and-flag  and  banner-blazonry — so  much  tawdry  tinsel 
finery  in  all  the  doings  of  the  times,  that  I  have  no  relish 
for  any  participation.  I  would  give  more  for  one  hour's 
lounge  in  the  sand,  among  the  frank-hearted  seamen-farmers 
of  Sea-spray,  than  for  the  whole  of  it. 

"  I  stood  in  Broadway,  the  other  day,  and  watched  the  in- 
terminable Clay  procession,  moving  on  in  all  the  imposing 
solemnity  of  shrouded  ensigns,  and  all  sorts  of  black-crape 
sorrow,  and  for  my  life  I  could  not  help  asking  a  gentle- 
man who  stood  near  me,  '  Where  were  the  banners  and 


SEA-SPRAY.  811 

emblems  of  the  sin-eaters  ?  and  at  what  position  in  the 
array  we  were  to  look  for  the  '  soul-cakes  ?' 

"  The  poor  fellow  stared  at  me,  and  moved  cautiously 
away,  as  though  he  was  not  quite  certain  that  I  was  not  a 
dangerous  neighbour.  In  this  instance,  I  admit  there  was 
perfect  propriety  in  paying  honor  to  a  great  man  passing 
to  his  rest.  1  was  really  and  sincerely  falling  in  with  his 
funeral .  train,  and  following  his  remains  a  little  way  on 
their  grave-ward  journey.  Still,  I  could  not  help  thinking, 
1  there  is  no  genuine  heart  warmth  in  all  this.  It  will  all 
have  to  be  paid  for  with  somebody's  money.  Every  inch 
of  grief  that  streams  along  the  streets,  or  twines  round 
flagstaff  or  pike,  in  the  form  of  black  muslin,  has  its  price/ 
I  have  seen  so  many  of  these  sham  funerals,  and  honors 
paid  to  horses  in  black  housings,  that  the  effect,  when 
the  occasion  calls  for  and  justifies  it,  is  entirely  destroyed 
— to  me,  it  is  all  farce. 

"  We  Yankees,  Evelyn,  are  ridiculously  given  to  deify- 
ing all  our  great  men,  without  making  much  distinction  in 
our  degrees  of  deification,  or  grading  our  honors  with  any 
reference  to  claims  or  calibre.  We  shall  have  a  fearful 
calendar  after  awhile,  if  we  continue  to  pay  divine  honors 
to  all  partizan  politicians,  since  every  section  of  country, 
and  every  shade  and  subdivision  of  party,  has  its  candi- 
date. If  we  deify  every  successful,  and  canonize  as  a 
martyr  every  unsuccessful  leader  of  party,  their  temples 
and  shrines  will  soon  o'ershadow  the  land." 

"  Papa,"  asked  Ernest,  who  had  been  listening  with  great 
interest,  "  what  does  Clarence  mean  by  '  sin-eaters'  and 
'soul-cakes  r' " 

"  I  thought  you  would  ask,  my  son,"  replied  Evelyn. 
"  It  refers  to  some  nursery  story  of  his  childhood,  belong- 


812  SEA-SPRAT. 

ing  to  the  chapter  of  '  Once  there  was.'  He  alludes  to  a 
system  said  to  have  existed  in  that  part  of  England  from 
which  his  ancestors  and  their  servants  came,  of  hiring  poor 
people  to  attend  the  funerals  of  the  richer  class,  to  take 
upon  themselves  the  sins  of  the  person  deceased,  when 
'  soul-cakes'  were  passed  around,  and  placed  in  accessible 
situations  for  all  to  eat  who  chose,  whether  hired  or  not. 
The  number  of  '  sin-eaters'  and  of  cakes  eaten  depended,  I 
presume,  more  upon  the  ability  or  willingness  to  pay,  than 
upon  the  number  or  nature  of  the  sins  to  be  assumed.  In 
these  days  people  have  sins  enough  of  their  own  to  answer 
for,  without  taking  their  neighbors.  But  it  was  not  strange 
the  old  nursery  tale  occurred  to  Clarence." 

"  That's  a  queer  notion,  though.  Mother,  don't  you 
wish  you  could  bake  up  all  your  sins  in  a  cake,  and  hire 
somebody  to  eat  them  ?" 

"  How  absurdly  you  talk,  Ernest,"  said  Ada,  tartly  ;  then 
adding,  quickly,  "  it  would  not  take  Dury  long  to  make  a 
cake  big  enough  for  your  sins,  Ernest ;  it  would  be  a  trifle 
to  eat  it.  I  would  do  it  myself,  without  being  hired." 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Ernest,  smiling.  "  There's 
been  a  blessed  price  paid  for  all  our  sins."  Then,  turning 
to  his  father,  he  opened  another  subject : 

"  Papa,  there  is  one  thing  you  can  do.  It  is  not  much,  I 
know  ;  but  I  should  like  if  you  would  do  it." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  ?     I  will  do  anything  I  can  do." 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  to  Gosport,  and  get  a  new  boat 
for  Mr.  Austin.  It  won't  be  much  for  him  ;  but  it  will  be 
some  comfort  to  me.  And  sometimes  when  he  rows  out 
on  the  bay  with  it,  he  will  remember  there  were  three  little 
boys  with  him  once,  in  pleasant  old  times." 

Evelyn  did  not  reply  immediately.  When  he  could 
speak,  he  said : 


SEA-SPRAT.  313 

"  You  shall  have  the  boat,  Ernest.  I  will  go  to  Gosport 
to-morrow,  and  see  what  I  can  do.  I  dare  say  I  can  find  a 
nice  one." 

"  And,  papa,  sometimes  you  will  take  Allen,  and  go 
down  and  get  Mr.  Austin  to  take  you  off' in  it,  for  the  sake 
of  old  times.  I  like  to  think  you  will." 

Evelyn  buried  his  face  in  Ernest's  pillow,  and  made  no 
reply,  but  his  frame  shook  with  emotion  as  his  thoughts 
went  forward  to  the  time  which  Ernest's  words  foresha- 
dowed. He  saw  himself,  as  the  boy  suggested,  with  Allen 
and  Austin  floating  over  the  glassy  waters  of  the  bay,  and 
thinking  of  those  no  more  by  their  side :  of  the  two  sleep- 
ing- beneath  the  calm  waters,  and  the  one  far  away  on  the 
hill-side.  He  closed  his  eyes,  but  he  could  not  shut  the 
vision  from  his  heart ;  he  groaned  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  clasped  involuntarily  the  little  form  still  throbbing  with 
life  beside  him.  Ernest  passed  his  fingers  caressingly 
through  the  darkjocks  which  fell  over  the  pale  brow,  and 
lifted  them  away  ;  then  turned  to  pleasanter  themes,  and 
soon  beguiled  his  father  into  conversation  on  subjects  apart 
from  personal  or  painful  interests. 

A  succession  of  rainy  days  prevented  Evelyn  from  car- 
rying out  his  purpose  of  going  to  Gosport,  keeping  every- 
body indoors  who  were  not  called  out  by  indispensable 
business.  Sea-spray  meantime  had  been  going  on  in  its 
own  fashion — stages  trundled  back  and  forth — travelers 
and  trunks  came  and  went — gay  groups  promenaded  the 
streets — idle  and  unoccupied  housewives  and  young  girls, 
confined  with  domestic  duties,  looked  out  at  them  as 
they  passed,  and  wondered  if  they  were  happy.  They 
were,  to  outward  seeming.  If,  beneath  those  gay  garments 
they  carried  hearts  laden  with  sorrow,  or  stained  with  sin, 


314  SEA-SPRAY. 

they  brought  them  with  them,  and  Sea-spray  was  not  ac- 
countable, nor  sea-water  an  antidote. 

Hay  harvest  and  wheat  harvest  were  over,  and  barn- 
doors stood  open,  that  the  air  might  circulate  and  benefit 
the  fresh  garnered  crops,  and  the  atmosphere  was  perfumed 
with  the  sweet  scent  of  the  new  mown  hay,  mowed  in  the 
barns,  or  stacked  in  the  pightels,  while  the  clatter  of  thresh- 
ing machines,  or  the  thump,  thump  of  flails,  resounded  in 
all  directions,  and  the  old  windmitt  groaned  and  labored, 
and  whirled  its  long  arms,  as  the  bags  of  new  wheat  came 
in,  spreading  all  its  canvas,  and  counting  every  breath  of 
wind  that  stole  up  from  the  sea,  In  that  season  of  famine- 
breeding  calms. 

The  harvest  hurry  being  over,  busy  preparations  began 
for  the  fun  and  frolic  of  fishing;  boats  were  carefully 
looked  to,  and  seines  were  put  in  requisition.  If  Satan 
had  any  especial  mischief  on  hand,  there  were  no  idle  hands 
in  Sea-spray,  into  which  he  could  put  it ;  /or  everybody  was 
hard  at  work,  dashing  and  splashing  and  tugging  in  the 
sea,  robbing  the  water  to  enrich  the  land,  and  the  beach 
was  now  the  promenade  and  point  of  attraction  for  loun- 
gers and  lookers-on. 

A  clear,  pleasant  day  came  at  last,  and  Evelyn  and  Al- 
len went  to  Gosport  to  see  about  the  boat,  which,  Ernest 
had  requested  his  father  to  purchase  for  his  friend  Austin. 
They  had  been  to  the  boat-builder's  and  selected  a  boat, 
which  was  to  be  sent  round  by  trusty  oarsmen  to  the  boat- 
house  on  the  beach,  and  were  standing  on  the  dock,  Evelyn 
in  conversation  with  the  builder,  and  Allen  watching  the 
progress  of  a  sloop,  which  he  had  seen  for  sometime  beat- 
ing her  way  in.  She  had  gained  well  on  her  last  tack,  and 
was  working  her  way  up  to  the  dock,  when  he  was  hailed 
by  a  voice  which  sounded  strangely  familiar,  and  turning 


SEA-SPRAY.  315 

towards  the  quarter  whence  it  proceeded,  he.  almost  sprang 
off  his  feet  for  surprise  and  joy  ;  for,  standing  on  the  deck 
of  the  sloop,  he  beheld  Jim  Austin  holding  Steenie  by  the 
hand,  and  Lyme  Brown  by  his  side.  Breathless  with  his 
tidings,  he  turned  to  speak  to  Evelyn.  He  had  walked 
back  a  distance  to  meet  Captain  Melton,  who,  with  his 
neighbor,  Captain  Hull,  had  come  down  on  the  dock  to 
give  him  the  benefit  of  their  opinions  upon  the  purchase  he 
had  made.  Allen  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  pointing 
to  the  sloop,  now  laying  off  on  a  short  tack,  he  told  his 
tale,  panting  with  earnestness  and  excitement.  Boats,  and 
builders,  and  prices,  were  all  forgotten  in  the  pleasure  of 
Allen's  communication,  and  he  turned  to  follow  the  fleet 
steps  of  his  overjoyed  companion.  The  sloop  was  hauling 
slowly  in ;  and  in  nervous  impatience  they  watched  her 
nearing  the  position  she  was  aiming  to  gain. 

She  gained  it  at  last ;  and,  with  a  vigorous  spring,  Eve- 
lyn planted  himself  by  the  side  of  the  little  group  on  her 
deck,  in  whose  story  of  strange  voyaging  he  felt  so  deeply 
and  peculiarly  interested.  Great,  indeed,  was  the  joy  of 
the  returned  wanderers,  to  meet  the  familiar  faces  of  Eve- 
lyn and  Allen,  and  to  hear  tidings  of  home  and  friends  ; 
and  the  tears  rolled  down  Steenie's  cheeks,  and  Jim's  lip 
quivered,  as  Evelyn  described  the  visit  he  had  made  at 
their  homes,  and  the  sorrow  he  witnessed,  and  Lyme's  voice 
was  husky  as  he  said  earnestly  to  Evelyn  : 

"  It  has  been  a  good  lesson  to  me.  I  hope  I  shall  be  the 
better  for  it  to  the  longest  day  I  live :  that  I  do." 

Their  story  was  soon  told.  After  that  long  night  of  suf- 
fering, palsied  with  terror,  benumbed  with  cold,  fainting 
from  weariness,  want  of  food,  and  exhaustion,  they  were 
picked  up  by  the  crew  of  a  vessel  bound  to  Boston,  and 
kindly  cared  for,  and  helped  on  their  homeward  way. 


316  SEA-SPRAT. 

They  had  come  now  from  New-London,  tired,  home-sick, 
and  somewhat  travel-soiled  and  dirty.  It  was  enough 
for  Evelyn  to  know  they  were  here,  and  apparently  none 
the  worse  for  their  forced  voyage.  He  secured  a  passage 
for  them,  as  far  as  the  village,  with  Captain  Melton,  telling 
him  to  deliver  them  to  his  keeping,  and  he  would  himself 
take  them  home  to  their  friends. 

"Now,  Allen,  we  will  make  a  quick  trip  of  it  to  Sea- 
spray,  to  carry  the  good  news  to  Ernest.  I  shall  depend 
upon  you  to  look  up  our  conveyance,  the  first  thing,  for  me 
to  take  the  boys  home,  at  once." 

So  saying,  Evelyn  sprang  into  the  little  wagon,  with  Al- 
len by  his  side,  and  the  old  horse  trotted  rapidly  home- 
ward, as  if  conscious  that  he  carried  joy  on  his  clattering 
hoofs. 

Ernest  was  watching  at  the  window,  and  Allen  could 
not  help  giving  his  hat  a  swing  over  his  head,  and  with 
it  a  loud  hurrah,  as  they  reined  up  in  front  of  the  house. 
Pony  was  turned  out  to  cool  himself  in  the  grass,  and 
the  travelers,  swelling  with  their  secret,  went  in  at  the 
back  door,  and  through  to  the  room  where  the  little  house- 
hold were  sitting :  Ada  reading  aloud  for  Ernest's  enter- 
tainment. 'The  book  was  laid  aside,  while  they  waited 
to  hear  what  the  new  comers  had  to  communicate. 

"  Come,  tell  us  papa,  did  you  find  a  boat  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  went  to  the  man  who  built  the  other.  He  says 
this  is  precisely  like  it." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!  You  are.  so  good  to  me,  papa! 
when  will  he  get  it  ?" 

"  He  w'ill  find  it  at  the  old  place  to-morrow  morning, 
if  the  builder,  in  whose  care  I  left  it,  can  get  a  trusty  crew 
to  take  it  round." 


SEA-SPRAY.  317 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  just  the  thing  ;  but  it  will  make  the 
poor  man  feel  so  bad  after  all.  I  don't  know,  papa,  but  it 
was  a  mistake  getting  it  just  now,"  said  Ernest,  a  sad,  sor- 
rowful expression  chasing  the  brightness  from  his  pale,  in- 
nocent brow,  which  the  transient  joy  had  lighted  as  it 
passed. 

"  But  that  is  not  all.  Allen  found  something  he  thought 
you  would  like,  and  I  engaged  Captain  Melton  to  bring  it 
up.  'Twas  a  queer  kind  of  present  for  a  small 'boy,  but 
I  think  you  will  enjoy  it  very  much." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  Allen,"  replied  Ernest,  without 
manifesting  much  interest,  "  though  I  don't  feel  much  like 
playing  with  anything,  even  if  I  had  strength.  But  what 
is  it  ?" 

"  Allen  found  it  on  board  a  vessel  just  coming  in  from 
New-London  ;  he  saw  it  before  she  had  reached  the  dock. 
I  think,  Ernest,  it  will  be  the  pleasantest  sight  to  you  that 
the  world  affords.  Just  the  right  thing  to  go  with  the 
boat." 

Ernest  caught  the  idea,  and  his  face  was  radiant  with 
joy.  He  looked  from  his  father  to  Allen,  and  he  knew  his 
guess  was  right : 

"  Is  it  them  ?     All  papa  ?     All  come  again  ?" 

"  All  three,  Ernest,  looking  well  and  happy." 

"  Then  they  did  drift  out,  as  the  old  man  said ;  and  where 
did  they  go  ?  Who  found  them  ?  Where  have  they  been 
all  this  time  ?" 

"  I  did  not  ask  many  questions.  I  was  satisfied  with 
what  I  saw.  I  left  particulars  for  a  future  time." 

Allen  could  answer  in  part  such  questions  as  interested 
Ernest,  having  had  more  talk  with  the  boys.  They  were 
drifting  away  in  the  dim  light  of  early  day,  and  Lyme  was 


818  SEA-SPRAY. 

sending  up  his  cry  for  mercy,  hoarse  and  trembling,  when 
a  loud,  cheering  voice  almost  directly  over  them  sung  out : 

"  Steamer  ahoy  !  What  poor  soul  is  that  lifting  the  lid 
of  old  Davy's  locker,  to  send  up  such  a  frightful  yell  ?" 

Lyme  looked  up,  and  there,  towering  above  them,  with 
every  thread  of  sail  spread  to  coax  a  breeze,  was  a  large 
vessel,  almost  motionless  on  the  sea.  The  kind  sailor  who 
had  hailed  them,  threw  Lyme  a  rope  to  steady  himself  a 
little,  and  they  were  soon  safe  on  board.  The  vessel  was 
bound  to  Boston,  but  was  long  in  getting  there  in  conse- 
quence the  of  calm.  The  boys  were  kindly  attended  to, 
and  but  for  sea-sickness,  and  troubled  thoughts  of  home, 
would  have  been  comfortable  enough. 

"  How  far  to  sea  had  they  drifted?"  asked  Ada. 

"  I  don't  know  how  far.  They  were  taken  up  between 
Montauk  Point  and  Block  Island ;  but  I  don't  know 
where." 

"  What  became  of  the  boat  ?     Did  they  lose  that  ?" 

"  They  had  to  sell  that  in  Boston.  They  could  not  do 
anything  else  with  it,  and  the  captain  of  the  vessel  sold  it 
for  them,  and  gave  Jim  the  money  to  pay  their  expenses 
homeward." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Ernest.  "  Now  Mr.  Austin  will  be 
glad  of  the  new  one.  I  guess  he  will  drive  his  stake  down 
strong  next  time." 

"  I  guess  the  boys  will  keep  out  of  it,  if  he  does,"  said 
Allen,  as  he  ran  out  to  find  Mr.  Osgood,  and  see  if  he 
would  take  Evelyn  and  the  boys  over  to  Bayside,  anxious 
that  no  time  should  be  lost  in  getting  them  home  ;  while 
Dury  hurried  up  her  tea  in  anticipation,  rejoicing  in  her 
honest  simplicity,  more  for  the  good  effect  their  return  would 
have  upon  Ernest,  than  for  the  relief  it  would  bring  to  sor- 


SEA-SPRAY.  819 

row,  not  having  witnessed,  she  had  not  taken  much 
thought  for.  The  boys  kept  an  impatient  watch  for  the 
farm  wagon,  in  which  the  wearied  and  home- sick  wan- 
derers were  to  come  from  Gosport.  At  length  the  horses 
heads  appeared,  and  wheeling  round  the  corner  behind 
them  came  the  long  body  of  the  wagon,  with  the  heads 
of  the  watched  and  waited  for  peering  up  from  the 
straw. 

Great  was  the  congratulation  and  joy  on  their  arrival, 
and  pleasant  the  running  of  neighbors  and  children  from 
all  quarters  to  shake  hands,  and  ask  questions,  and  be  glad. 
Deep,  earnest,  unselfish  was  the  feeling  which  gladdened  the 
gentle  heart  of  the  pale,  pining  boy,  who  extended  his  little 
slender  hand  to  welcome  them  ;  pure  the  joy  which  spoke  in 
the  tears,  which  fell  among  the  silken  curls  of  Steenie,  and 
dimpled  in  the  smile  with  which  he  greeted  the  older  compa- 
nions of  his  perils ;  and  genuine  and  fervent  the  gush  of  ear- 
nest, if  wordless,  thanksgiving,  which  his  heart  sent  up  for 
this  so  great  deliverance. 

Tea  was  over ;  Dury's  preparations  having  been  duly 
honored  by  the  hearty  attentions  paid  to  them  by  the  hun- 
gry participants.  But  Mr.  Osgood  was  at  the  door  with 
his  carriage,  and  Evelyn  hurried  them  off. 

"  Oh,  Steenie,  Steenie  !"  said  Ernest,  calling  after  him, 
"  can  you  tell  me  who  was  the  baddest  man  yet  ?  Well, 
then,  who'll  be  the  gladdest  man  to  night?" 

"  Isaac  Austin,  now  we'm  finded,"  answered  Steenie, 
prompted  in  part  by  Jim  ;  and  the  carriage  rolled  away, 
Ernest  clasping  his  hands,  as  he  listened  to  the  fainting 
sound  of  its  wheels,  with  a  deep,  relieving — 

"  Thank  God !     Thank  God  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CALMNESS  and  composure  had  succeeded  the  first  wild 
outbreak  of  sorrow,  and  Ailsie  Austin  returned  to  the 
discharge  of  her  ordinary  domestic  duties,  wretched  and 
almost  broken-hearted,  but  still  unmurmuring,  and,  as 
far  as  might  be,  submissive.  With  a  sorrow  subdued  and 
solemn,  she  went  about  her  house,  seeking  in  every  way  lo 
cheer  and  comfort  all  around  her — studying  her  husband's 
tastes  and  wishes  with  unobtrusive  solicitude — preparing 
all  her  meals  with  careful  reference  to  his  preferences,  and 
regulating  all  her  movements  with  anxious  care  to  meet 
his  feelings  and  promote  his  peace — keeping  out  of  sight  of 
the  sad,  silent  father,  every  demonstration  of  rebellious 
sorrow,  and  sustaining  herself  and  him  with  steady,  self- 
governing  firmness. 

The  routine  of  farm  business  was  resolutely  resumed, 
and  Austin  carried  his  trials  and  burdens  with  him  to  his 
patient  labors  in  the  field,  with  strugglings  and  strivings 
which  none  might  witness ;  wrestling  with  his  great  sor- 
row, and  seeking  for  strength  and  comfort  where  alone  it 
could  be  found. 

In  the  faithful  discharge  of  every  relative  duty,  and  in 
the  unremitting  and  conscientious  endeavor  to  discipline 
his  feelings,  he  found  all  the  consolation  he  could  yet  hope 


SEA-SPRAY.  3   1 

for  looking  up,  from  his  lonely  occupations  in  the  meadows 
or  the  woods,  amid  the  soothing  influences  and  quiet  re- 
pose of  the  works  of  his  Heavenly  Father,  to  Him  who 
had  afflicted  him ;  and  feeling,  and  acknowledging,  that, 
though  "  His  ways  were  past  finding  out,"  He  was  yet 
over-ruling  all  for  good ;  and  saying,  though  with  faintings 
of  heart  and  tears,  "  It  is  good  for  me  to  be  afflicted ;" 
"  Thy  will  be  done." 

It  was  the  day  succeeding  the  succession  of  rainy  days 
which  had  been  so  sad  and  dreary  in  their  silent  home,  and 
Ailsie  and  Anna  had  been  out,  for  the  first  time,  to  trace 
the  last  steps  of  the  children,  going  first  to  Dick's,  to  weep 
with  poor,  desolate  Mary,  in  her  home  of  hardships  and 
heart  trials,  of  which  few  knew  the  bitterness.  Living 
with,  and  loving  her  grand-parents,  who,  with  all  their 
brutalizing  self-indulgences,  had  never  a  frown  or  a  harsh 
word  for  her,  her  heart  was  heavy  with  trouble,  and  her 
face  flushed  with  shame,  as  she  witnessed  the  degradation 
and  misery  into  which  every  day  they  were  plunging 
deeper.  She  shrunk  from  the  prospect  of  deprivation 
and  poverty  which  was  darkening  and  thickening  around 
her.  For  herself,  young  strong,  and  active,  she  had  no 
fears.  She  knew  she  could  find  employment,  and  compen- 
sation, and  a  pleasant  home,  in  many  a  kind  family,  but 
she  could  not  leave  them  now  in  their  helplessness,  with 
their  ruinous  propensities  aggravating  the  infirmities  of 
age,  and  sharpening  the  sting  of  consequent  destitution. 

Shrinking  with  fear  and  dread,  from  the  loose,  immoral 
associations  which  were  the  attendants  upon  their  vices ; 
shunning,  as  much  as  possible,  all  intercourse  with  those 
whom  similarity  of  vicious  pursuits  called  around  her 
humble  home,  and  almost  cursing  in  her  heart  the  grasping 

14 


322  SEA -SPRAY. 

wretch  who  catered  for  their  sins  and  swept  away  their 
substance,  poor  Mary  struggled  on,  looking  and  longing  for 
the  time  when  Lyman  should  have  strength  and  judgment 
to  understand  her  trials  and  relieve  them.  That  hope  was 
lost  and  swallowed  in  his  unknown  and  untimely  bed  of 
death  ;  and  Mary  wept,  and  there  were  few  to  comfort  her. 
What,  and  who  was  poor  Lyme  Brown  ?  and  who  cared 
for  old  Dick  and  Judy  ? 

So  they  drained  and  replenished  their  jugs,  and  slept,  and 
drained,  and  replenished  again.  One  came  and  brought  a 
little,  and  another  came  and  borrowed  a  little  ;  some  came 
in  kindness  to  comfort  and  aid  Mary,  and  remonstrate 
with  Dick,  and  reason  with  Judy ;  but  he  had  his  "  rumytiz," 
and  she  had  her  "  spell?,"  and  when  the  jug  had  been  a 
recent  journey  to  be  filled,  their  attacks  were  excruciating 
to  behold.  And  Mary  worked,  and  washed,  and  mended, 
and  cleaned,  and  kept  things  in  order  as  well  as  she  could, 
and  read  her  Bible  and  Union  Hymn  Book,  and  sung  when 
she  had  a  heart  to  sing ;  and  sometimes  her  visions  of  the 
future  were  brightened  by  glimpses  of  a  clean,  new  little 
bit  of  a  gem  of  a  home,  into  which  she  felt  sure  that  Sam 
Listen  would  never  bring  any  jugs.  Then  she  took  cou- 
rage, and  worked  and  scoured,  and  made  things  look 
bright  and  pleasant,  and  kept  the  old  folks  tidy,  and  the 
lowly  roof  was  hallowed  that  sheltered  a  spirit  so  patient, 
and  honest,  and  true. 

Mary  wept  now,  over  this  fresh  and  crowning  drop  in 
her  cup  of  sorrow.  Lyman,  her  young  brother,  who, 
though  thoughtless  and  uncurbed,  was  affectionate,  and 
gentle,  and  helping  to  her,  doing  her  errands  and  little  out- 
of-door  chores  cheerfully,  saving  her  many  weary  steps, 
and  sparing  her  much  exposure — always  bringing  some 


SEA-SPKAY.  828 

little  item  of  news  to  chat  about  and  beguile  the  loneliness 
of  her  home — always  there  with  his  kind  good-night  and 
his  merry  morning  song — Lyman,  away  !  and  forever  ! 
The  hopes  she  had  built  upon  him,  the  joys  she  had  shared 
with  him,  the  fears,  the  trembling  anxieties  she  had  some- 
times felt  for  his  future,  were  all  gone  down  with  him 
under  the  deep,  dark  waters,  leaving  a  blank  in  her  exist- 
ence there  was  nothing  now  to  fill. 

The  meeting  between  Mary  and  her  afflicted  neighbor 
was  fraught  with  painful  emotions,  and  they  clasped  hands 
in  tearful  silence,  not  the  less  expressive  that  it  was 
wordless.  Judy,  who,  fortunately,  had  drank  herself  dry, 
"  was  Judy,"  and  sat  industriously  knitting  before  the  door, 
watching  the  while,  impatiently,  the  road  along  which  Dick 
was  to  come  with  the  newly  filled  jug. 

"  This  'ere's  a  'mazin'  heavy  blow,  Miss  Elsy,  to  all  on 
us,  but  th'aint  no  help  for  't,  an'  I  tell  Mary  we'd  orter  try'n 
make  the  best  on't.  Th'  aint  but  dretful  little  comfort,  I 
tell  her,  in  this  world,  take  one  time  with  another,  and 
see'n's  taint  but  little  while  we've  got  to  stay  here.  I  tell 
her,  says  I,  '  Mary,  'taint  a'  no  use  a-takin'  on  so,'  'cause 
you  see,  Miss  Austin,  we  can't  differ  nothin'.  You  know 
Mary,  she's  young  yet,  poor  child,  and  sh'aint  niver  had  no 
trouble  nor  nothin',  an'  she  sot  no  eend  o?  store  on  poor 
Lyme,  so  we  all  on  us  did  for  that  matter,  we  did  ;  but  I  tell 
her,  b'then  she  got  to  be  s'long  in  years  as  I  be  ef  she's 
spared,  she'll  find  it's  a  dretful  onsatisfyin'  world,  even  to 
them's  gets  the  best  on't,  and  that  aint  poor  folks  in  a  gin- 
'ral  way.  But  how  does  you'n  Isaac  stan'  it  ?  'Mazin' 
bore  up,  I  spose.  Well,  it  beats  me  what  religion  does  for 
some  folks,  but  'taint  for  all  on  us  to  get  the  comfort  out 
on't  you'n  Isaac  does  ;  more's  the  pity,  s'l  tell  Dick." 


324  SEA-SPRAY. 

No  one  felt  disposed  to  cut  short  the  thread  of  Judy's 
discourse  ;  so  she  went  rambling  on  till  she  dropped  a  stitch 
in  her  knitting,  and  her  talk  at  the  same  time,  when  she 
rose,  and  rolled  her  great  body  into  the  kitchen  to  look  up 
her  spectacles,  and  Mary  spoke  : 

"You  have  no  hope  of  ever  hearing  anything?  You 
don't  think  there's  much  chance  that  we  shall  ever  know 
any  more  than  we  do  now  ?"  asked  she,  of  her  kind  neigh- 
bor. 

"  I  have  very  little  expectation,  Mary,  that  we  ever  shall 
— and  still,  I  do  sometimes  feel  as  if  it  might  be  possible. 
I  wish  I  did  not  have  such  longings,  Mary,  for  I  know  there 
is  no  reason  in  such  thoughts." 

"  It  is  very  natural  to  have  them,  I  am  sure.  They  will 
come  to  me,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  what  Uncle  Lester 
said,  might  be.  What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  It  is  very  hard,  Mary,  for  a  mother  to  reason,  and  con- 
sider, and  calculate  probabilities  as  coolly  as  those  who  feel 
no  interest  beyond  common  kindness.  I  do  dwell,  more 
than  J  ought,  upon  what  might  be,  instead  of  schooling  my 
heart,  as  I  should,  to  bear  what  is."  And  Ailsie  wept,  and 
there  was  none  to  reprove  or  comfort  her  ;  for  Anna  could 
not  see  any  sin  in  such  unmurmuring  grief,  and  Mary,  in 
the  indulgence  of  her  own  sorrow,  forgot  everything  but 
sympathy  for  one  thus  doubly  afflicted. 

"  It  is  very  hard,  very  hard,  Miss  Ailsie,  but  think  of  me, 
and  remember  the  blessings  you  have  left.  Oh,  you  don't 
know  what  a  dismal  thing  it  is,  to  be  worse  than  alone,  as 
I  am,  when  our  folks  are  as  they  are  too  much  of  the 
time;  to  come  to  the  table  with  them  when  they  can't  help 
themselves,  and  to  stay  here  day  in  and  day  out,  with  no- 
body to  say  a  word  to  me  ;  scared  to  pieces  for  iear  some* 


SEA-SPRAY. 

thing  dreadful  will  happen  to  'em,  and  afraid  to  go  to  bed 
and  leave  'em,  when  I  know,  if  the  house  should  get  a  fire, 
I  never  could  get  'em  out,  and  I  can't  sleep  for  listening. 
And  then  the  thought  of  poor  Lyman!  Oh,  then  I 
realize  how  much  comfort  and  company  he  was  to  me  !  But 
I  try  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  to  remember  who  it  is  that 
has  put  all  this  upon  me  ;  and  I  think  of  that  beautiful  ser- 
mon Mr.  Alden  preached  the  last  time  I  went  to  meetin'. 
the  Sunday  after  your  Lucy  died,  from  the  text,  '  As  thy 
day,  so  shall  thy  strength  be ;'  and  1  do  try  to  be  patient, 
but  I  can't  always." 

"  It  is  right  to  try,  and  you  must  not  doubt,  Mary,  thai,  you 
will  receive  the  grace  and  strength  you  ask  for.  We  all 
know  that  our  afflictions  do  not  spring  from  the  dust,  and 
that,  hard  as  it  is  to  bear  them,  it  is  right  and  needful  that  we 
should.  I  know  I  don't — I  can't ;  it  is  a  great  trial  even  to  try ; 
but  I  know  too,  Mary,  for  I  have  felt  before  now,  that  right- 
fully and  trustingly  sought,  strength  and  peace  will  come." 

"  I  hope  so,  Miss  Ailsie.  I  am  sure  if  it  wasn't  so,  folks 
could  not  get  along  and  live  under  the  trials  some  have,  and 
I  shall  try  not  to  give  way  too  much.  Jf  you  and  Mr.  Isaac 
can  bear  your  troubles,  I  ought  to  try  to  bear  mine.  If  it 
was  not  for  this  last,  what  I  used  to  call  trouble  would  not 
seem  like  much  ;  but  now  it  is  so  aggravating  to  think  them 
that  he  thought  so  much  of,  can  do  as  they  do  ;  they  don't 
feel  as  I  do  ;  if  they  did,  they  couldn't."  And  at  the  idea 
of  cruel  forgetfulness  of  her  brother,  her  tears  flowed  forth 
afresh. 

"  Sakes  alive,  Miss  Austin !  you  aint  a-goin',  be  you  ?" 
said  Judy,  shuffling  back  into  the  room  as  Ailsie  and  Anna 
were  about  leaving.  "  Well,  th'aint  much  to  stay  for  here. 
Don't  suppose  we  should  a  seen  nara  one  on  you  to'ow 


326  SEA-SPRAY. 

house  at  all,  ef  'twant  jist  as  'tis  ;  but  I's  gwine  to  tell  you 
how  I've  a  bin  handled,  long  back.  I've  a  bin  a  havin'  one 
o'  my  spells — it  ralely  was  wonderful  bad ;  an'  Dick,  (you 
know  what  Dick  is,)  he'd  a  gone  an'  drunk  up  all  the  meder- 
sun.  I  allus  try  to  keep  jist  a  s waller  tucked  away  agin  my 
spells,  but  tha'  wa'nt  a  speck  in  the  jug,  and  it's  a  maricle 
o'  marcy  how  I  stood  it  till'st  Dick  got  back.  Ah  !  well,  I 
see  you're  in  a  pucker.  Well,  well,  'taint  no  matter  about 
sich  a  poor  body  as  I  be.  Do  come  agin,  as  iver  you  kin." 

Judy  gave  one  long  look  along  the  road,  and  then  re- 
sumed her  knitting,  interjecting  several  self-condoling 
remarks  upon  the  dilatory  habits  of  Dick,  and  the  dronish 
character  of  "  the  mare." 

Ailsie  and  Anna  took  their  way  to  the  shore  in  silence, 
treading,  with  sighs  and  streaming  tears,  the  road  these 
little  feet  had  traveled  that  last  afternoon ;  but  they  found 
no  trace — the  heavy  rains  had  effaced  their  foot-prints,  and 
their  way  upon  the  waters,  alas !  had  left  no  track. 

They  sat  down  upon  the  stones  and  looked  over  the  bay, 
its  waters  lying  so  peacefully,  the  blue  unruffled  surface 
telling  no  tale  of  the  fearful  secrets  oft-times  before  now 
buried  in  its  bosom. 

"  Come,  Anna,  let  us  go.  I  have  longed  to  do  this,  and 
I  feel  relieved ;  but  it  will  not  be  profitable  to  do  it  often. 
I  must  turn  my  thoughts  away  from  earth.  I  must  learn 
to  look  above,  Anna,  and  feel  as  if  my  children  were  there. 
But  I  must  teach  my  heart  to  do  it ;  it  is  not  natural. 

They  turned  toward  home,  walking  on  slowly,  and 
pausing  often  to  look  around  upon  the  fair  fields,  and  skirt- 
ing woods,  and  scattering  clumps  of  trees,  through  which 
they  passed,  Ailsie  feeling  almost  the  actual  presence  of 
her  boys,  amid  the  scenes  through  which  they  had  so  often 


SEA-SPRAY.  327 

bounded.  Before  they  reached  home,  they  encountered 
Anna's  father,  Tom  Belden,  crossing  the  fields  from  his 
own  home,  and  directing  his  course  towards  Austin's. 

"  I  thought,  Ailsie,  I'd  come  and  spend  part  of  the  day 
with  you.  The  woman-kind  our  way  have  clubbed  their 
forces  and  gone  to  Gosport  a-tradin' ;  so  I'd  nothing  to  do 
but  keep  house,  and  it's  dull  work  for  such  busy  old  chaps 
as  Sam ;  so  I  put  the  great  door  key  in  my  pocket  and 
come  off." 

"  It  was  the  best  use  you  could  make  of  yourself,  to 
come  and  see  us.  I  am  glad  you  could,  though  it  won't 
enliven  you  much.  It's  a  sad  house  you're  come  to,  Tom," 
said  Ailsie,  pleasantly,  and  making  an  effort  to  speak 
cheerfully. 

"  Just  so,  Ailsie,  just  so  ;  but  I  felt  all  the  more  like 
coming  for  that.  '  It  is  good  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing,' for,  '  by  the  sadness  of  the  countenance  the  heart  is 
made  better.'  Where's  Isaac?" 

"  At  his  work — always  busy ;  he  can't  rest  a  minute, 
but  keeps  constantly  occupied.  It's  well  for  him  he  can, 
for  his  heart  is  broke,  and  he  hides  it  from  me  all  he  can. 
He'll  be  in  at  dinner-time,  and  I'm  so  glad  you're  here  to 
talk  with  him  a  little." 

They  went  in  at  the  back  door,  as  Ailsie  concluded,  and 
passed  through  the  kitchen  to  the  keeping-room,  where  the 
cool,  refreshing  breeze  was  tossing  the  chintz  drapery  at 
the  windows,  and  sweeping  over  the  strings  of  Jim's  little 
wind-harp  standing  on  the  casement. 

It  was  a  sad  voice,  that  low,  wailing,  melancholy  music, 
to  greet  poor  Ailsie.  But  she  stepped  resolutely  in,  re- 
moved the  simple  instrument,  the  work  of  those  beloved 
hands,  and  closed  the  window. 


328  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Now,  Aunt  Ailsie,  you  must  sit  down  and  rest,  and  let 
me  help  Hannah  get  dinner,"  said  Anna,  taking  the  sun- 
bonnet  from  her  aunt's  hand,  and  placing  the  great  easy 
chair  in  the  pleasantest  position.  "  There,  now,  father, 
you  must  make  yourself  agreeable,  and  we'll  soon  have 
dinner." 

Anna  withdrew  to  concert  measures  with  the  "  help" 
about  striking  up  something  nice  for  dinner ;  and  Ailsie, 
as  she  tried  to  busy  herself  with  her  sewing,  pursued  her 
conversation  with  her  brother-in-law. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  brother  Belden,  what  a  comfort  it  is  to 
me  to  have  Anna  with  me.  I  feel  it  a  great  kindness  in 
you  to  spare  her,  for  I  know  your  family  is  small,  and  you 
must  miss  her  ready  kindness  in  everything." 

*'  I'm  glad  on't,  Ailsie  ;  if  she  can  do  you  any  good, 
keep  her  as  long  as  ryou  need  her,  poor  child.  I  dare  say 
it's  a  satisfaction  to  her,  too.  I  can't  say  but  that  'tis 
pretty  dull  with  us  sometimes,  and  I  do  miss  my  little  sing- 
ing bird  ;  though  as  to  the  matter  o'  the  singing,  aunty,  she 
ain't  done  much  o'  that  lately,"  said  Belden,  carefully  mak- 
ing basket-work  over  his  fingers  with  a  long  stalk  of 
knotted  grass  he  had  pulled  on  his  walk,  and  casting  a  side- 
long, fidgetty  glance  at  his  pale  auditor. 

"  I  feel,  brother  Belden,  as  if  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  up  and  down  this  earth,  that  man 'can't  remedy, 
wherein  we  must  read  the  providence  of  a  mightier  hand 
than  his.  It  is  a  pity  there  should  be  any  of  man's  making 
that  might  be  spared " 

Ailsie  hesitated  and  stopped. 

"Go  on.  I  spose  I  know  what  you  are  coming  at  — 
Speak  your  mind  freely,  Ailsie.  I'm  willing  to  hear  any- 
thing from  you." 


SEA-SPRAT.  329 

"  It  adds  to  my  sorrow,  Tom,  heavy  as  it  is,  to  see  my 
sister's  child  growing  every  day  thinner  and  paler,  under  a 
trouble  she  can't  even  speak  about ;  for  she's  so  patient  and 
uncomplaining,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  for  her.  I  wish, 
you  could  feel  it  right  to  overlook  that  foolish  affair  that 
Harry  Marvin  got  drawn  into.  It  was  a  boyish  mistake  in 
judgment,  and  has  done  no  hurt,  except  in  its  consequences 
to  poor  Anna." 

"I  aint  sure  but  you're  right,  Ailsie.  I've  been  de- 
bating the  matter  in  my  mind  considerable  smart,  since  the 
child  has  been  here,  and  asking  myself  how  I  could  get 
along  with  it,  if  she  was  gone  not  to  come  again,  and  I 
find  I  ain't  so  clear  as  I  thought  I  was  :"  and  he  stripped 
the  grass  off  his  fingers  with  a  twitch,  and  began  weaving 
it  again  more  earnestly  than  before.  He  was  not  the 
man  to  abandon  his  ground  without  a  struggle.  Meeting 
no  reply,  he  went  on : 

"It  want  no  such  great  matter  after  all.  I  don't  think 
Harry  had  any  sneaking,  underhanded  motives ;  he  could 
not  have,  you  know,  for  he  owns  quite  a  slice  of  Montauk 
himself,  and  if  they'd  a  carried  their  pints  'twould  a  been 
all  the  worse  for  him,  the  gump.  But  he'd  hear'd  their 
big  talk  about  the  rights  o'  the  many,  and  the  oppressions 
o'  the  few,  and  liberty,  and  equality,  and  privileges,  and 
republican  principles,  and  old  Smoker  knows  what  all  o1 
such  'lectioneering  nonsense,  and  he  got  kinder  worked 
upon,  and  he  thought  'twould  be  great  to  be  mighty  public 
sperited,  and  go  with  the  people.  He  did  not  look  fur 
enough  to  see  he  was  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul.  But 
seein'  it's  all  settled  now,  I  reckon  'tis  best  to  forget  it,  and 
not  let  it  make  life-time  quarrels,  and  bad  blood  among 
neighbors." 

14* 


330  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Tom  Belden.  I 
never  could  see  the  use  in  men's  quarreling  forever  for  so 
small  a  thing  as  a  difference  of  opinion." 

"  Yes,  but  when  men's  opinions  govern  their  actions,  it's 
another  matter.  When  they  stick  to  their  opinions,  to  the 
length  of  sticking  their  axe  into  their  neighbor's  timber, 
their  sickle  into  his  wheat,  or  their  cows  into  his  pastures, 
its  time  to  rare  up  Aunty." 

"  Do  you  think  Harry  would  ever  have  gone  so  far  as 
that  ?"  asked  Ailsie,  coming  back  to  the  point. 

"I  don't  think  he  would.  I've  been  thinking  what  poor 
Eachel,  that's  dead  and  gone,  would  say  if  she  could  speak 
for  her  darling.  I  know  what  she'd  say  well  enough. 
She'd  say  'examine  yourself,  Tom  Belden.  Don't  say 
your  prayers  and  go  to  bed  in  peace,  till  you've  done  it. 
Search  out  the  matter,  and  see  if  you  aint  punishing  your 
child  with  a  heavy  hand,  when  the  fault's  at  your  own  door, 
the  sin  all  your  own  obstinate  temper.'  I  know  that's  just 
what  she'd  say,  for  it's  what  she  has  said  many's  the  time 
about  other  things  ;  and  it's  hard  to  make  any  unhappiness 
for  her  child,  because  the  grave  comes  between  me  and 
her  mother's  voice.  Its  speaking  in  my  conscience  though, 
and  I  can't  help  but  listen.  And  for  her  sake  that's  in  her 
grave,  and  for  yours,  Ailsie,  I  must  try  and  mend  mat- 
ters." 

"  I  am  too  glad  to  hear  you  come  to  that  determination ; 
but  don't  do  it  to  please  me,  if  you  think  it  is  not  right." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  what  I  didn't  think  was  right,  to  please 
anybody,"  said  Tom,  throwing  the  worn-out  grass  out  of 
the  door. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  would,  brother  Belden,"  replied  Ail- 
sie, with  the  least  bit  of  a  twinkle  of  the  old  times  archness 
in  her  eye. 


SEA-SPRAY.  331 

"  I  guess  we  won't  say  anything  to  Anna  about  all  this 
talk.  It  wouldn't  be  strange  if  Harry  took  it  into  his 
head  to  be  stuffy.  He's  got  grit  in  him.  Maybe  he  won't 
relish  being  whipped  off  and  whistled  back.  But  I'll  go 
and  see  him  as  I  tote  along  back,  and  if  he's  a  mind  to  let 
it  all  go  for  what  its  worth,  I'll  send  him  along  over  here 
this  evening." 

The  door  opened  as  he  concluded  what  he  was  saying, 
and  Anna  announced  the  arrival  of  her  uncle,  and  the 
readiness  of  her  carefully  prepared  dinner  at  the  same  time, 
and  they  assembled  at  the  table.  The  long,  homily  grace 
was,  par  courtesy,  nodded  to  Tom  Belden ;  who  branched 
off  into  much  doctrinal  and  theological  disquisition,  edifying 
his  hearers,  and  informing  his  Maker  on  very  many  sub- 
jects not  immediately  pertaining  to  dinner,  which  was  mean- 
time getting  cold,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  Hannah,  the 
cook.  It  was  done  at  length,  and  conversation  was  kept  up 
with  some  ingenuity  by  the  kind-hearted  visitor,  with  the 
zealous  co-operation  of  Sam  Listen,  who  was  an  indefati- 
gable purveyor  of  news  for  home  consumption. 

"  So  you  went  to  town  last  night,  Sam,"  said  Tom ; 
"  well,  what  news  did  you  get  ?  Anything  stirring  but 
strangers  ?" 

"  I  did  not  hear  any  that  I  cared  anything  about,"  re- 
plied Sam  ;  "  they're  all  full  o'  politics,  but  it  all  goes  one 
way  with  me.  I  aint  old  enough  to  vote  ;  and  if  I  was,  I 
don't  know  nothin'.  I  went,  hopin'  what  I'd  no  sort  o'  rea- 
son to  ;  but  I  couldn't  help  hopin'  I  might  hear  somethin' 
about  what  we  are  all  thinkin'  most  about.  But  'twant  no 
use  ;  I  might  a  known  'twouldn't  be.  Yes — I  did  hear  one 
piece  o'  news  that  I  cared  not  a  copper  for,  'cause  my  heart 
was  full  o'  somethin  else  ;  but  they  was  all  chock  full  on't, 


832  SEA-SPRAY. 

and  did'nt  they  talk  ?  Martin  Van  Buren  was  there,  and 
I  don't  know  who  all  besides.  Some  of  his  sons,  I  reckon, 
they  said." 

"  Martin  Van  Buren  been  in  our  town  !  he  has,  has  he  ? 
Well  he's  the  man  of  all  others  in  this  world  I'd  go  furthest 
to  see.  I  aint  sure  I  wouldn't  a-gone  to  town  just  to  get 
a  sight  at  him.  I  reckon  he's  about  the  greatest  man 
we've  ever  raised  in  this  country.  If  there'd  only  been 
men  enough  o'  my  mind,  he'd  a  been  President  his  life  time, 
and  rotation  behanged." 

Tom  Belden  was  on  his  hobby  now.  If  it  had  been  any 
time  for  it,  he  would  have  taken  a  regular  canter  over  the 
necks  of  everybody  who  stood  between  his  idol  and  uni- 
versal, life-lasting  dominion.  As  it  was,  Sam  quietly  un- 
horsed him  by  introducing  another  subject : 

"  I  heard  'em  talking,  too,  about  another  thing,  that  I 
spose  nobody  thought  poor  Sam  Listen  had  any  ears  for ; 
but  I  had,  for  poor  Jim's  sake." 

Ailsie  lifted  her  sad  eyes  with  an  expression  of  interest, 
and  Sam  replied  to  the  look. 

"  You  know  the  books  Jim  was  so  took  up  with  ? — them't 
he  read  all  over  agin  loud  to  me." 

"  The  Wide,  wide  world,"  replied  Ailsie,  through  her 
tears. 

Yes.  Well,  I  heard  'em  talking  in*  the  store  how  the 
lady  that  writ  them  books  was  visitin'  among  the  big-bugs, 
South-end,  and  it  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes,  when  I  re- 
membered how  much  comfort  Jim  took  in  them  books,  and 
how  bewitched  he  was  to  get  t'other  with  the  queer 
name." 

"  Poor  boy  !"  said  Austin,  with  a  choking  voice,  "  I  got  it 
for  him  at  Gosport ;  it  has  never  been  untied." 


SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Jim  was  a  smart  boy  at  books,"  remarked  Belden, 
shoving  back  his  chair.  "  He  never  would  have  been  con- 
tented to  slave  on  a  farm  ;  but  he's  provided  for,  in  the 
Lord's  own  way.  We  must  try  to  be  reconciled,  and  trust 
it  was  for  the  best." 

Sam  returned  to  his  work,  and  Austin  remained  in  con- 
versation with  his  friend,  while  Ailsie  retired  to  her  room, 
struggling  to  regain  the  composure  and  self-command  the 
conversation  had  so  painfully  disturbed. 

After  an  hour  or  two  talking  with  Austin,  and  looking 
over  his  premises,  Belden  went  home  to  unlock  his  house, 
and  make  ready  for  the  return  of  the  shopping  deputation  ; 
and  the  shadows  of  evening  began  once  more  to  gather 
over  the  quiet  abode  of  Austin. 

Anna  and  Ailsie  were  sitting  with  their  work,  in  the  little 
kitchen,  in  the  fading  twilight,  when  a  quick,  bounding  step 
came  up  the  path,  and  a  hand  was  laid  on  the  latch.  Anna 
turned  away,  with  a  look  of  blank  dismay,  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Harry  Marvin  presented  himself.  With  a  nod 
to  Anna  as  he  passed,  he  advanced  to  give  his  hand  to 
Ailsie,  saying,  with  much  emotion,  as  he  did  so : 

"  I  have  been  wishing  to  come  and  see  you  ;  but — " 

"  I  understand  all  about  it,  Harry ;  I  did  not  take  it 
unkindly,  and  you  will  not  doubt  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
now,"  replied  Ailsie,  who  very  well  understood  what  had 
sent  him  there. 

"  Anna,  you  are  well,  I  hope." 

"  Very  well." 

Anna's  ball  rolled  on  the  floor,  and  Harry  picked  it  up 
and  sat  down  beside  her,  entering,  with  some  awkward- 
ness, into  conversation  of  no  interest  to  himself  or  her, 
pitching  her  ball  of  yarn  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  with 


,334  SEA-SPRAY. 

the  most  persevering  assiduity,  as  though  inconceivably 
amused  and  edified  by  the  process ;  but  it  would  not  do. 
Anna  had  no  idea  of  being  betrayed  into  even  a  passive  ac- 
quiescence in  an  act  of  disobedience,  so  she  took  her  ball, 
and  putting  it  in  her  pocket,  quietly  changed  her  seat,  and 
took  her  position  under  the  protecting  wing  of  her  Aunt's 
hood-backed  chair,  looking  demure  disapprobation  at  her 
daring  admirer. 

"You are  very  dutiful  Anna;  I  am  glad  to  see  it.  They 
say  obedient  daughters  make  obedient  wives." 

Anna  looked  surprised  at  Harry's  levity,  and  wounded, 
perhaps,  that  he  could  take  their  separation  so  coolly. 

"  I  am  sure  father  will  not  believe  that  I  have  wilfully 
disobeyed  his  orders,  or  disregarded  his  wishes.  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  submit  to  them ;  I  shall  not  rebel 
now." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  did,  Anna.  These  troublesome 
fathers  are  fractious  fellows  sometimes ;  but  I  hope  you 
will  not  think  of  disputing  your  father's  will,  as,  just 
now,  his  views  and  mine  agree  exactly ;  and  he  sent  me 
down  to  talk  with  you,  and  see  if  you  coincided  with 
us." 

"  Did  father  tell  you  to  come  here,  Harry  ?"  asked  Anna, 
almost  disposed  to  do  what  she  had  never  done  before,  — 
doubt  the  truth  of  Harry  Marvin. 

"  He  did.  He  said  he  had  thought  better  of  his  deter- 
mination, and  that  if  you  would  give  your  consent,  things 
might  be  again  as  they  had  been." 

"  Give  my  consent!  How  could  father  say  such  a  foolish 
thing  ?  Then  you  won't  go  to  sea,  Harry  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  Anna;  I  have  put  my  hand  to 
the  ship's  papers,  and  I  should  not  like  to  back  out.  The 


SEA-SPRAY.  335 

ship  sails  very  soon,  and  it  would  make  some  muss  ;  besides, 
I  have  leased  my  farm,  and  been  at  some  expense  for  my 
outfit.  I  am  sorry  it  is  so,  but  I  think,  since  things  have 
gone  so  far,  I  had  better  stick  up  to  my  engagements." 

"  I  think  you  had,  Harry.  We  are  young,  and  three  years 
will  pass  away  less  wearily  now  that  we  can  look  for- 
ward to  a  pleasant  meeting  at  the  end.  But  it  is  a  sad  thing 
to  think  about,  to  go  so  far,  and  be  gone  so  long." 

"  It  is  a  sadder  thing,  Anna,  to  be  gone  never  to  come 
again.  Think  of  that,  my  child,"  said  Ailsie,  mournfully. 

Austin  came  in,  and  drawing  the  little  table  towards  him, 
took  his  Bible,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  bent  over  its  pages. 
Sam  Listen  was  beguiling  the  time  over  the  pages  of  the 
"  Observer,"  which,  next  to  the  Bible,  was  the  household 
oracle  in  the  community  of  Bayside.  Harry  and  Anna 
were  carrying  on  their  conversation  in  a  low  tone  about 
"  the  Islands,"  and  "  homeward  bound  ships,"  and  "  over- 
land mails,"  and  "  California,"  and  "  China,"  and  "  Sand- 
wich Islands,"  evidently  planning  for  an  interchange  of  let- 
ters, and  seeking  to  occupy  themselves  with  the  pleasant 
features  which  presented  in  the  prospect  of  their  long  sepa- 
ration. Ailsie  had  drawn  her  chair  near  the  open  window, 
and  with  her  head  resting  on  her  hand,  was  lost  in  thoughts 
having  little  reference  to  what  was  passing  around  her. 
Suddenly  she  rose,  and  stood  erect  before  her  husband, 
with  a  pale  face,  exclaiming,  in  a  startled,  wild  manner — 

" Isaac!  I  heard  Steenie's  voice." 

Austin  looked  up,  alarmed  for  her  reason,  saying : 

"  Be  composed,  Ailsie  ;  you  have  been  dreaming." 

"  I  was  fully  awake  as  you  are.  I  know  I  heard  dear 
dead  Steenie's  voice,"  said  she,  with  a  determined  air,  and 
looking  inquiringly  around. 


336  SEA-SPKAY. 

"  Oh,  Aunty,  do  sit  down ;  you  dropped  asleep.  You 
was  dreaming,"  said  Anna,  fearfully  alarmed. 

"  I  was  neither  asleep,  nor  in  any  way  unconscious.  It 
might  have  come  from  another  world,  but  there's  no  de- 
ceiving a  mother  when  she  listens  with  her  heart.  I  heard 
Steenie's  voice,"  she  repeated,  resolutely. 

Carlo  rose  and  came  forward,  whining,  and  looking 
wistfully  at  the  door. 

"  I  do  hear  a  step.  Its  some  of  the  folks  come  to  see 
Hannah,  I  guess,"  said  Sam  Listen,  shivering  with  ill 
concealed  dread  of  he  knew  not  what. 

A  quick  step  was  now  distinctly  heard  coming  round 
the  house. 

"  It's  some  stranger,"  said  Austin,  as  a  quick,  loud 
knock,  sounded  at  the  front  entrance.  "Neighbors  don't 
knock  at  that  door."  And  taking  a  light,  he  proceeded  to 
admit  the  applicant. 

"  It's  Mr.  Evelyn,"  said  Sam,  recognizing  the  voice. 
"  He  haint  come  here  at  this  time  o'  night  for  nothing,  I'll 
engage." 

Sam's  suggestions  were  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of  the 
gentleman  himself.  He  paused  an  instant  to  give  them 
time  to  prepare  a  little  for  his  errand  before  he  spoke  : 

"  I  have  been  to  Gosport  on  some  little  business  this 
afternoon,  and  I  there  heard  of  a  boat  having  been  picked 
up  at  sea  answering  the  description  of  yours." 

Here  Carlo  became  very  uneasy,  making  violent  de- 
monstrations of  his  determination  to  get  out. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  some  relief  to  you  to  know  that 
the  boat  and  the  bodies  have  been  found." 

He  quietly  opened  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  Carlo 
bounded  out  with  a  yelp  and  a  frisk. 


SEA-SPRAT.  337 

"  I  knew  I  heard  Steenie's  voice.  They  are  alive — they 
are  here,  f  read  it  in  your  face,"  said  Ailsie. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Evelyn.     "  May  I  let  them  in?" 

But  they  could  wait  no  longer.  The  door  was  flung 
open,  and  the  boys  bounded  in,  and  were  clasped  in  silent 
rapture  in  the  arms  of  their  parents ;  while  Carlo  frisked, 
and  jumped,  and  barked,  the  noisiest  of  that  happy  group. 
Leaving  the  boys  to  tell  their  own  tale,  and  explain  all  that 
had  happened,  Evelyn  escaped  as  soon  as  possible  from 
the  expressions  of  gratitude  with  which  they  surrounded 
him,  jumped  into  the  wagon,  and  drove  home  with  a  heart 
overflowing  with  glad  thanksgiving.  Harry  Marvin  took 
his  leave,  to  carry  the  glad  tidings  to  Tom  Belden's  ;  and 
Sam  Listen,  taking  Lyme  Brown  by  the  hand,  took  his 
way  across  the  lots  to  Dick's. 

The  outpourings  of  grateful  thanksgiving  and  praise 
ascended  from  the  re-united  family  around  the  domestic 
altar  that  blessed  night,  beneath  the  roof  of  Isaac  Austin. 
Jim's  sweet,  clear  voice  rose  once  more  in  their  evening 
hymn,  and  Steenie's  pleasant  tones  again  blended  with  his 
mother's  from  his  accustomed  seat  on  her  lap.  Again  and 
again  were  those  beloved  forms  clasped  with  tears  of 
blessedness  to  the  hearts  that  ached  with  their  fulness  of 

joy- 

"  Oh !"  said  Anna,  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow, 
"this  is  too  much  happiness  for  one  day.  Shall  I  ever 
forget  to  render  thanks  to  God  for  all  his  great  mercies  ? 
Shall  I  ever  again  murmur  at  anythipg,  or  doubt,  that  in 
good  time  he  will  bring  light  out  of  darkness  ?" 

Sam  and  Lyman  walked  on  briskly  till  they  came 
within  a  short  distance  of  Dick's,  when  Sam  ordered  a 
halt,  telling  Lyme  to  remain  without,  and  leave  to  him  the 


838  SEA-SPEAY. 

pleasant  task  of  telling  Mary  the  joyful  news.  The  light 
was  shining  through  the  kitchen  window,  and  Sam  took  a 
peep  in  before  he  entered.  Mary  was  sitting  by  the  little 
table,  her  Bible  open  before  her,  and  tears  coursing  slowly 
down  her  cheeks  as  she  bent  over  its  pages.  She  wiped 
them  hastily  away  as  he  entered,  saying  : 

"  What  has  sent  you  here  at  this  late  hour,  Sam  ?  Is 
anything  the  matter  at  your  house  ?" 

"  No.  But  you  see,  Mary,  I  knew  the  old  man  had 
been  to  town,  and  I  thought  how  it  might  be  ;  so,  as  I  did 
not  mind  the  walk  this  pleasant  night,  I  thought  I'd  come 
and  see.  How  is't  with  the  old  folks,  Mary  ?" 

"  Just  as  it  always  is.  They've  both  been  sound  asleep 
hours.  It  is  sad,  dull  times,  Sam,  and  now's  the  time  I 
miss  poor  Lyman  most  of  all " 

"  What  would  you  give  the  man  that  could  tell  you  just 
where  he  was  now,  Mary  ?"  said  Sam,  with  a  queer,  quizzi- 
cal look. 

"  I  would  give  all  the  little  I  have  freely,  Sam,  to  have 
him  found  and  laid  in  a  Christian's  grave." 

"  Would  you  give  yourself,  Mary,  to  anybody  that  could 
tell  you  where  he  was,  alive  and  well  ?"  said  Sam,  with  a 
peculiar  laugh. 

Mary  was  puzzled  at  Sam's  behavior,  but  she  answered 
his  question  : 

"  I  feel  now  as  if  I  would,  Sam  ;  but  if  there  was  any- 
body that  could  tell  me  that  it  would  make  all  difference. 
It  would  be  hard  to,make  me  pay  for  such  information  as 
that." 

"  I  shan't  tell  you  till  you  promise,"  said  Sam,  giving  her 
a  familiar  chuck  under  the  chin.  Mary  retreated  in  dis- 
may. Had  she  not  trouble  enough  already,  that  this  must 
be  added  ?  Could  it  be  ?  Her  heart  sunk  as  she  asked  : 


SEA-SPRAY.  339 

"  Sam,  what  does  possess  you  ?  Have  you  been  drink- 
ing?" 

"  No,  Mary,  no !  I  have  been  hard  at  work  all  day.  I 
came  straight  from  home,  and  you  know  drink  don't  come 
under  Isaac  Austin's  ruff,  but  somehow  I  feel  sorter  first- 
rate."  And  Sam  whistled  Yankee  Doodle,  and  cut  a  cor- 
responding caper.  Mary  was  pale  with  agitation,  and  Sam 
saw  it,  so  he  sobered  his  exultant  delight,  and  spoke 
seriously  : 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  acting  like  a  darned  great  fool,  Mary ; 
we've  got  glorious  news,  and  it's  all  joy  over  to  our  house, 
and  I  couldn't  help  coming  over  to  tell  you.  You'll  stand 
it,  Mary  ?  You  wont  die  for  joy,  will  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall,  Sam,  if  you  never  tell  me." 

"Well,  if  I  open  the  door  and  let  Lyme  in,  you  won't  be 
scared  to  death  ?" 

The  door  opened  without  Sam's  interposition,  and  Lyme 
walked  in.  Mary  did  not  scream,  nor  faint,  nor  go  off  in 
interesting  hysterics ;  but  she  flung  her  arms  around  her 
brother  in  tearful  joy,  and  thanked  God  aloud  and  fervently. 
Sam  danced,  and  whistled,  and  showed  astonishing  feats  of 
agility  in  the  overflowing  joy  of  his  honest  heart ;  while 
Mary's  feelings,  as  deep  but  less  demonstrative,  spoke  in  si- 
lent caresses  and  tears : 

"  Well,  I'll  go  home ;  but  you'll  keep  that  promise  you 
didn't  make,  all  the  same,  Mary,  if  you  don't  want  me  to 
jump  head  over  heels  among  the  porpoises  in  the  bay." 

"  We'll  talk  about  that  another  time,  Sam ;  I  can't  talk 
nonsense  to-night." 

Sam  flung  his  hat  out  of  the  door,  and  jumped  out,  with 
a  shout,  after  it,  and  the  brother  and  sister  were  left 
alone. 


340  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  Mary,  Mary,  what  on  'arth  did  you  get  up  so  airly  for  ?" 
called  Judy,  from  the  front  room. 

"  I  have  not  got  in  bed  yet,  granny,"  answered  Mary, 
stepping  in  with  the  light,  and  drawing  near  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  'taint  mornin/  hey  ?  Well,  I'm  'mazin'  glad  on't,  for 
mornin'  dreams  allus  goes  contrary,  an'  I  dremt  how't  I 
heard  Lyme  an'  Sam  Listen  jabbering  like  all  nater,  'long 
a  you." 

"  Mebby  you  did,  granny,"  said  Lyme,  looking  in  at  the 
door. 

"  The  marcy  sakes  alive !  our  Lyme  !  Be  you  alive  ? 
where  on  this  varsal  'arth  d'you  come  from  ?" 

"  I  come  from  all  sorts  o'  places,  granny.  I've  brought 
back  that  han'kercher  to  read  to  you." 

"  That's  a  good  boy  !  but  you  kin  go  ter  bed,  Lyme, 
'cause  I'm  onwell,  got  one  o'  my  spells,"  said  Judy,  drowsi- 
ly. Joy  itself  could  not  overcome  gin. 

Seated  in  the  old  familiar  spot,  by  Mary's  side,  Lyme 
entered  into  all  the  details  of  his  perilous  voyage,  dwelling 
with  earnest  particularity  upon  his  feelings,  when  in  the 
hour  of  instant  death  he  found  that  he  could  not  command 
language  for  prayer. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  help  me  to  be  a  good  boy.  Don't  let  me  for- 
get all  the  promises  I  made  to  my  self  that  doleful  night  when 
I  was  adrift  on  the  wide,  wide  ocean,  and  if  it  hadn't  a  been 
for  Jim  Austin,  shouldn't  a  known  as  I  could  pray,  or  ever 
a  thought  o'  one  word  to  say.  If  you  see  me  growin'  for- 
getful, Mary,  tell  me  of  the  time  when  I  couldn't  even  say 
'  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner,'  till  Jim  told  me,  and 
when  even  little  Steenie  could  teach  me  more'n  I  ever 
thought  on  afore.  Don't  let  me  ever  think  the  time  has 
come  when  1  don't  need  to  say  that  prayer,  for  I  shall,  more 


SEA-SPRAY.  341 

and  more,  as  long  as  I  live."  And  Lyme  renewed  his 
promise  of  striving  to  lead  a  "  godly,  righteous,  and  sober 
life." 

As  to  his  success  in  his  efforts,  or  his  perseverance  in 
making  them,  who  shall  answer?  Since  whatever  is  written 
opposite  the  name  of  "  Lyman  Beecher  Brown,"  in  the 
great  "  Book  of  Fate,"  can  only  be  read  as  Time  turns  the 
pages. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IT  was  late  before  Evelyn  reached  home  ;  but  he  found 
Ernest  awake,  and  Allen  sitting  by  his  bedside,  waiting  to 
hear  the  result  of  his  mission. 

"Come  now,  papa,  tell  us  all  about  it.  What  did  they 
say  ?  When  tyou.  went  in,  were  they  frightened  ?  I  am  so 
glad." 

"  They  did  look  startled  when  they  saw  me  at  the  door, 
and  I  read  fright  on  Sam  Listen's  face,  notwithstanding  his 
fierce  whiskers.  We  had  hard  work  to  keep  Steenie  quiet, 
and  his  mother  was  almost  wild  before  she  knew  anything, 
for  she  heard  his  voice  down  at  the  gate,  and  Carlo  smelt 
out  the  secret,  and  was  barking  and  tearing  at  the  door 
when  I  went  in.  I  was  surprised  that  no  one  had  taken  the 
hint  from  hi  n 

"What  did  Steenie  do  ?     Did  he  behave  like  a  hero  ?" 

"  Steenie  behaved  very  well.  He  knew  before,  you  know, 
that  he  was  alive  ;  it  was  no  surprise  to  him ;  but  I  did  not 
stop  to  hear  what  they  all  had  to  say.  I  knew  there  must 
be  joy  enough  where  the  lost  are  found,  Ernest." 

Evelyn  felt,  more  keenly  than  he  expressed,  how  deep 
must  be  that  joy,  as  he  looked  on  his  own  delicate  child, 
and  thought  of  that  going  from  which  there  is  no  return ; 
but  he  put  the  thought  away,  remembering,  that  the  parting 


SEA-SPEAY.  343 

must  yet  come  between  those  now  so  happily  met,  and 
that  he  and  his  should  yet  be  gathered  in  a  home  from 
which  they  should  go  no  more  out. 

"  Now  1  can  go  to  sleep  so  happy,"  said  Ernest ;  "  that 
choking  pain  is  all  gone  from  my  heart,  and  I  shall  see  the 
pleasant  places  of  the  earth  look  so  bright  and  cheerful 
again.  But  where  did  you  leave  Lyme  Brown  ?" 

"  Sam  Listen  took  him  in  charge,  and  they  were  making 
the  best  of  their  way  towards  Dick's  when  1  left." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  to  sleep  now,  and  dream  of  pleasant 
things.  So  good-night,  papa  ;  good-night,  mother,  and  all  of 
you." 

Ernest  turned  to  his  pillow,  and  composed  himself  to 
sleep  with  a  peace  and  contentedness  he  had  not  known 
for  many  days,  and  the  family  separated  for  the  night. 
Evelyn  went  to  the  kitchen  to  sit  by  the  fire,  for  his  gar- 
ments were  chilly  and  damp  with  the  dew.  To  his  sur- 
prise he  found  a  grand  illumination,  and  Dury  busy  in  the 
compounding  of  sundry  articles  for  the  oven,  in  which  a 
furious  blaze  was  flashing,  and  streaming  forth  its  long  fiery 
tongues  up  the  wide  throat  of  the  chimney,  as  if  eager  to 
devour  the  darkness  frowning  above. 

"  Why,  Dury,  what  are  you  doing  ? — baking  in  the 
night  ?"  exclaimed  Alice,  who  entered  at  the  same  time. 

"  Beshur  I  be.  Where's  Miss  Ally  to  git  vittles,  eff  old 
Squaw  don't  bake  sweetums  ?" 

"  I  know,  Dury,  if  we  eat,  we  must  cook ;  but  you  need 
not  do  it  in  the  night." 

"  Don't  Miss  Ally  worry  ;  Dury  can  contrive.  G'long 
to  bed." 

Dury  kept  on  her  course,  preparing  her  pies  and  col- 
lecting the  ingredients  for  her  cake,  asking  no  questions, 


844  SEA-SPRAT. 

and  desiring  no  instructions  with  regard  to  her  proceedings. 
Setting  down  one  thing  after  another  as  she  brought  them 
from  the  pantry,  she  enumerated  the  requisites  on  the 
table : 

"Urn  gonter  make  reesen  cake.  Guess  them's  all  the 
grievances — flour,  sugar,  butter,  cream,  eggs,  brandy,  wine, 
reesons,  citron,  pu'lash,  nutmage." 

Suddenly,  she  came  to  a  dead  stop.  She  had  encoun- 
tered a  want  for  which  she  had  not  provided.  She  lacked 
an  article  she  could  in  no  case  dispense  with,  without 
which,  in  her  estimation,  no  sweet  dish  was  complete. 

Standing  erect  in  her  perplexity,  with  her  arms  dropped 
helplessly  by  her  side,  she  solemnly  put  the  question  : 

"  What  shall  I  do  for  sinnymint?" 

"  You  will  have  to  do  without  it,  Dury,"  said  Alice,  re- 
joicing in  her  heart  that  for  once  she  could  taste  an  article 
without  it. 

"  Store's  shot  up  !  Guh  !  niver  thought  o'  sinnymint !" 
soliloquised  Dury,  in  great  discomfiture. 

"  Try  something  else,  Dury,"  suggested  Alice. 

"  Wont — nothin'  else  do,"  said  Dury,  catching  up  a  cup 
and  making  for  the  door. 

"  But  where  are  you  going  now,  Dury  ?  As  you  say,  the 
store  is  closed  for  the  night,  and  the  neighbors  are  all  in 
bed.  Don't  go  out  for  such  a  trifle ;  try  something  in  the 
place  of  it." 

"  I  will  have  sinnymint,"  said  Dury,  starting  off  with  as 
rapid  a  movement  as  her  nature  admitted,  to  devise  means 
for  procuring  what  she  was  determined  to  have.  Evelyn 
laughed,  and  Alice,  though  out  of  patience,  could  not  help 
joining  him. 

"  Dury  has  one  of  her  national  characteristics  fully  de- 


SEA-SPRAY.  345 

veloped — unyielding,  persevering  determination  is  decid- 
edly an  Indian  trait,"  remarked  Evelyn. 

"  It  is  a  governing""trait  in  Dury's  character,  certainly  ; 
and  I've  been  told  that  it  is  a  prevailing  trait  among  the 
women  of  the  Montauk  tribe,  to  defer  their  domestic  duties, 
particularly  baking,  till  a  late  hour  in  the  night." 

"  Dury  always  defers  doing  everything  she  can,  until 
after  the  family  have  retired  ;  whether  it  is  because  she  feels 
more  independent,  or  because  her  mind  is  more  clear  to 
meditate  the  mysteries  of  pies  and  puddings  when  she  is 
less  liable  to  have  its  operations  disturbed,  is  a  question  I 
doubt  if  she  can  answer." 

Dury  entered  as  Alice  closed  her  reply,  with  a  placid 
expression  of  solemn  beatitude  on  her  features,  which  was 
her  nearest  approach  to  a  smile,  and  set  down  her  cup  with 
an  air  of  grave  triumph,  only  deigning  to  say,  "  Um 
got  it." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it,  Dury  ?"  asked  Alice,  with  some 
curiosity  as  to  the  lender  upon  which  she  had  been 
levying. 

"Old  Squaw  went  all  along;  niver  see  no  light  no  was. 
When  was  comin'  back,  see  little  speck  through  hole  in 
curtin  ;  so,  thumpt  on  winder ;  Miss  Milly  come,  dreffle 
scared,  and  su'she,  '  whose  tha'.'  Says  I,  's  nobody  ony 
ole  Dury  wants  to  borry  sinnymint.  Then  she  open  door 
soffly,  laugh  dreffly.  But  I  got  sinnymint — I  would  have 
sinnymint — I  know'd  I  would." 

Having  achieved  her  purpose,  Dury  went  on,  silently 
rolling,  and  sifting,  and  beating — turning  neither  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left  to  ask  direction  or  assistance, 
but  planning  and  executing  her  work  in  her  own  fashion, 
and  troubling  herself  with  nothing  beyond  the  sphere  of  her 

15 


346  SEA-SPRAY. 

own  immediate  duties,  moving  about  her  midnight  baking 
with  soft,  noiseless  tread ;  no  sound  ever  breaking  over  her 
lips,  no  humming  of  tunes,  no  little  snatches  of  songs, 
no  breathings  of  involuntary  heart's  melody,  was  sober, 
staid  Dury  ever  betrayed  unseemly  to  indulge  in.  No 
laughter,  no  manifestation  of  merriment  ever  discomposed 
the  corners  of  her  mouth,  or  sent  one  twinkling  beam  to 
her  downcast,  melancholy  eyes  ;  but  the  same  unvarying, 
silent  immobility  was  always  wrapped  like  a  garment 
around  her.  Dury  went  on  with  her  darling  occupation, 
making  "oven  vittles" — occasionally  pitching  a  little  addi- 
tional fuel  into  the  oven,  or  giving  the  mass  of  burning 
coals  a  vigorous  stirring  and  spreading,  with  her  long  pole  ; 
and  Alice  left  her  to  her  own  devices,  rejoicing  to  be  the 
only  waking  working  being  beneath  the  roof. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  summer  sun  was  passing  away  as  it  usually  passes 
in  Sea-spray,  the  farmers  following  the  ordinary  routine  of 
labor  as  the  season  advanced.  The  gay  season  in  the  vil- 
lage was  now  at  its  height ;  carriages  were  constantly  on 
the  whirl,  and  arrivals  and  departures  made  the  only 
change.  The  great  study  was  amusement.  "  What  shall  we 
do  this  morning?" — "Where  shall  we  go  this  afternoon?" 
were  the  great  questions.  "  Who  has  come  ?"  and  "  who 
has  "gone  ?"  about  the  only  items  of  intelligence ;  and 
"  which  house  has  the  greatest  number  of  boarders  ?"  the 
great  debateable  subject.  But  while  these  things  were 
enacting  without,  to  the  Evelyns  the  little  matters  of  vil- 
lage or  general  interest  were  without  attraction.  The  life 
in  which  their  lives  were  bound,  like  the  sweet  summer 
flowers,  was  also  passing  away.  Daily  the  feeble  frame 
grew  more  feeble,  the  faint  voice  more  faint,  the  pallid 
cheek  more  thin  and  pallid ;  and,  as  the  earth  receded,  the 
soft  eye  became  more  soft  and  clear,  the  sweet  smile  more 
sweet,  and  the  gentle  heart  more  loving  and  gentle.  Er- 
nest was  on  his  bed,  from  which  he  was  no  more  to  rise, 
calm,  patient,  and  cheerful,  suffering  no  pain,  making  no 
moan,  but  looking  forward  to  his  heavenly  rest  as  the 
weary  wanderer  looks  forward  to  the  shelter  and  solace  of 


348  SEA-SPRAY. 

home  ;  comforting,  with  his  trusting  and  hopeful  words,  the 
anguish  of  those  who  watched  with  never-ceasing  care  and 
sorrowing  love  beside  him. 

"  Papa,"  said  Ernest  one  evening,  after  lying  for  a  long 
time  looking  silently  out  upon  the  moonlight  glistening 
upon  the  dewy  foliage — "  Papa,  the  moon  shines  brightly 
now  on  Edith's  grave,  and  it  is  still  and  pleasant  on  the 
hill ;  and  sometimes  when  I  feel  so  weak  and  weary,  I  think 
how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  be  there  and  rest  close  by  her. 
What  is  the  reason,  that  when  I  try  to  think  and  believe 
one  thing,  I  can't  help  feeling  another  ?  When  I  know 
that  all  I  knew  and  loved  of  Edith  was  laid  there,  it  is  hard 
to  bring  myself  to  think  of  her  anywhere  else." 

"  But  that  better  part  of  Edith,  which  knew  and  loved 
you,  my  son,  you  know  is  not  sleeping  there." 

"  Oh,  no,  papa,  I  know  better  than  that ;  but  I  can't  al- 
ways remember  it.  I  have  so  many  thoughts  when  I  am 
almost  dreaming.  I  think  how  glad  Edith  will  be  to  see 
me  ;  and  then  I  am  talking  to  her  with  my  fingers  as  I  used 
to  do  ;  and  then  I  wonder  if  she  will  be  as  she  was  here  ; 
or  will  she  hear,  and  speak  to  me?  Never  mind,  papa, 
never  mind,  I  know  you  can't  tell.  I  should  not  trouble 
you  with  all  my  thoughts." 

^Evelyn  pressed  the  dear,  little,  trembling  hand,  which,  in 
the  earnestness  of  his  sorrowful  self-condemnation,  the 
child  had  laid  on  his.  He  sought  to  gain  time  for  self- 
command,  to  calm  the  emotions  which  swelled  his  heart, 
as  he  listened  to  the  remarks  to  which,  in  his  guileless  sim- 
plicity, Ernest  almost  unconsciously  gave  utterance.  He 
paused  ere  he  an-wered,  hardly  able  to  frame  a  reply  to 
questions  so  difficult  to  solve,  without  disturbing  and  pain- 
ing the  delicate  and  sensitive  feelings  of  his  child. 


SEA-SPRAY.  349 

"  Oh,  don't  think  about  it,  papa ;  never  mind,"  he  re- 
peated, "  I  did  not  mean  exactly  to  ask  a  question  for  you 
to  answer;  I  was  only  thinking  aloud.  It's  no  matter; 
I  knew  nobody  could  tell  about  such  things  ;  but  it  is  na- 
tural to  have  such  thoughts,  isn't  it  papa  ? 

"  Yes,  Ernest,  it  is  natural ;  we  all  have  thoughts  we 
cannot  satisfy.  You  are  right,  too,  my  son  ;  they  are  ques- 
tions which  I  cannot  answer,  for  we  have  no  explicit  scrip- 
tural authority  on  which  to  build.  It  is  right  to  take  a 
pleasant  and  consoling  view  of  such  subjects ;  to  indulge 
in  anticipations  of  happy  reunions  with  our  departed  friends. 
Even  the  resting-place  of  the  blessed  would  be  less  one  of 
blessedness  without  that  precious  hope." 

"  But  shall  we  know  each  other  ?  And  how?  For  we 
shall  not  carry  our  earthly  likeness  with  us.  I  think  and 
think,  papa,  till  I  get  troubled  and  lost,  and  almost  fright- 
ened sometimes  with  wondering.  How  shall  spirit  know 
spirit  ?" 

"  We  cannot  judge,  my  son,  how,  when  the  veil  of  flesh 
is  removed,  and  the  faculties  purified  and  purged  from  sen- 
sual and  earthly  dross,  the  imperfect  shall  become  perfect, 
the  clouded  cloudless,  and  the  darkness  light;  we  can  but 
hope  and  trust  we  shall  know,  when  faith  shall  have  be- 
come vision,  and  hope  the  realization  of  joyful  fruition." 

"  But  you  know,  papa,  Dives  knew  Lazarus,  even  when 
he  was  afar  off,  and  the  great  gulf  was  between  them  ;  and 
even  in  that  ugly  place  of  trouble  he  did  not  forget  his  old 
human  and  earthly  affections,  for  he  tried  to  send  Lazarus 
to  warn  his  brothers.  Poor  Dives  could  not  have  been  all 
wicked,  for  his  strong-  love  for  his  friends  was  with  him  in 
the  horrible  pit.  Isn't  that  proof,  papa,  that  folks  do  know, 
and  remember,  and  love  after  death  ?" 


350  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  I  think  it  may  be  safely  so  considered." 

Ernest  was  silent,  and  sleep  gradually  stole  over  him. 
Ada  was  pacing  the  house,  restless  and  wretched.  It 
seemed  that  quiet  and  peace  had  utterly  forsaken  her,  and 
that  to  be  composed  and  still  was  impossible.  Her  health 
was  failing  daily,  and  her  nervousness  and  trembling  agi- 
tation were  becoming  too  powerful  for  control.  Her  pale 
face  was  shrunk,  and  her  features  sharpened  and  shorn  of 
their  beauty.  While  Evelyn  kept  his  position  constantly 
beside  the  pillow  of  his  child,  watching  with  a  love  which 
mastered  every  other  thought,  conquering  all  emotion, 
staying  all  outward  demonstration  of  grief,  calmly  and  even 
cheerfully  conversing  with  and  sustaining  him,  supplying 
every  wish  before  it  was  spoken,  and  answering  every 
look,  Ada  wandered  about  without  seeming  aim  or  object, 
a  helpless,  hopeless  spectre,  seeking  rest  and  finding  none ; 
listening  for  awhile  to  the  sweet,  plaintive  accents  of  her 
child,  as  he  gave  utterance  to  his  thoughts  and  dreamy 
imaginations  ;  then  wringing  her  hands,  and  starting  wildly 
away,  to  pace  with  rapid  and  tottering  steps  from  room  to 
room,  and  turning  again  to  look  and  listen  ;  hovering  ever 
near  and  over  him,  but  resting  never  calmly  and  com- 
posedly with  ministering  care  and  consolation  by  his 
couch.  Absorbed  in  his  devoted  attention  to  his  dying 
child,  Evelyn  had  abandoned  any  attempt  to  restrain  her 
waywardness  ;  and  while  he  saw  her  sufferings  and  pitied 
them,  and  prayed  with,  and  entreated,  and  soothed,  and 
counseled  her,  he  felt  painfully  how  fruitless  were  all  his 
endeavors  to  teach  her  submission,  or  to  afford  her  relief. 
So  day  followed  day,  death  drew  near,  and  Evelyn 
watched,  and  was  still  and  patient;  Ada  saw  it,  and 
walked,  and  wrung  her  hands,  and  shuddered ;  Ernest 


flEA-SPRAY.  851 

felt  it,  and  was  not  apalled ;  but  he  looked  in  his  father's 
face  with  a  sweet,  loving  smile,  and  sought  to  comfort 
him  with  gentfe  words  : 

"  It  wont  be  long,  papa.  It  seems  like  a  little  while  to  me, 
and  I  feel  no  trouble  about  it  now,  only  that  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you.  You  wont  mourn,  papa,  so  very  much,  when  I  am 
gone.  You  will  come  yourself  when  a  few  short  earthly 
seasons  are  past.  And  mother  will  not  be  long  in  coming, 
for  I  see  how  she  is  growing  thinner,  and  paler,  and 
weaker,  every  day,  and  then  you  will  be  alone ;  but  you 
wont  be  lonesome,  for  you  will  have  us  all  in  your  heart, 
and  you  will  know  where  we  are  waiting  for  you.  It  is 
only  that  we  have  gone  a  little  before." 

Then  the  child  would  fall  into  a  sweet  slumber,  or  lie  with 
folded  hands,  softly  whispering  his  prayers.  And  so  his 
little  life  flickered  and  faded ;  he  said  little,  but  slept  and 
smiled,  and  knew  no  suffering. 

Evelyn  watched,  and  he  was  not  left  alone  in  his  sor- 
row :  Allen  was  his  almost  constant  attendant ;  Mr. 
Alden  looked  in  daily,  with  untiring  kindness  and  offers 
of  assistance  and  service  ;  and  friends  surrounded  him  ;  for 
in  kind,  sympathizing  Sea-spray,  the  prompting  heart,  the 
helping  hand,  and  the  silent,  unobtrusive  deed  of  gentle 
and  loving  ministration,  were  never  wanting. 

Ada,  in  her  desolation,  found  tender  and  soothing  watch- 
fulness, and  assiduous  attention  and  care  from  the  fair 
matrons  of  the  village.  Ministering  spirits  among  the 
affectionate  beings  in  her  neighborhood  stood  always  near 
and  around  her,  anxious  to  comfort  and  sustain ;  but 
Ada's  anguish  was  one  which  kindness  could  not  soothe, 
nor  human  efforts  reach  with  any  hope  of  healing. 

It  was  Sunday.     The  house  was  perfectly  still.     Ernest 


852  SEA-SPRAT. 

was  slumbering  on  his  couch,  Evelyn  and  Allen  in  silent 
watchfulness  were  bending  over  him.  Ada,  with  more  than 
her  usual  restlessness,  had  exhausted  herself,  and  for  a 
time  was  resting.  Dury,  as  was  always  the  case,  was 
busy  in  her  culinary  operations  ;  Alice  and  Leena  im- 
proving the  quiet  of  the  hour  to  have  a  little  consultation 
with  her  upon  the  state  of  affairs  in  her  department.  A 
quick  sort  of  cantering  step  was  heard  in  the  dining-room, 
and  to  the  dismay  of  the  inmates  of  the  kitchen,  Mrs. 
Thorn  presented  herself  with  her  ominous  accompani- 
ment, a  willow  basket  of  alarming  dimensions,  telling,  in 
unequivocal  terms,  an  intention  to  inflict  herself  upon 
them  for  several  days.  It  was  too  provoking — but  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  she  had  come;  and  where  Mrs.  Thorn 
found  it  for  her  convenience  or  pleasure  to  tarry,  there  she 
tarried. 

Mrs.  Thorn  was  the  terror  of  Sea-spray  housekeepers, 
among  whom  she  had  established  a  sort  of  accidental  ac- 
quaintanceship, in  consequence  of  having  had  at  some  re- 
mote period  of  "  long,  long  ago,"  a  son  at  school,  and 
boarding  in  the  place.  The  boy  had  been  shifted  from 
family  to  family,  as  one  after  another  became  aware  of  the 
visiting  propensities  of  the  mother.  But  there  was  no 
shaking  off  Mrs.  Thorn,  and  she  continued  to  visit  and 
victimize  till  there  was  scarcely  a  family  in  the  township 
exempt  from  her  intrusions.  She  had  enlarged  and  ex- 
tended her  operations,  till  she  now  contrived  to  spend 
about  every  third  year  among  her  helpless  dear  friends  in 
Sea-spray,  trotting  about  with  her  basket,  and  always 
bringing  with  her  the  certainty  of  one  season  of  gladness 
in  prospective.  Mrs.  Thorn  was,  according  to  her  own 
phraseology,  "a  smart-minded  woman;"  and  as  she  had 
been  at  different  periods  of  her  life  connected  with  almost 


SEA-SPRAY.  853 

every  denomination,  she  was  armed  at  all  points,  and  her 
array  of  sectarian  battle  axes  and  bludgeons  was  fearful. 
Entering  with  her  basket  on  her  arm,  her  first  salutation 
was  : 

*'  Here,  you,  where  shall  I  put  this  ?" 

"  On  the  floor,"  replied  Leena,  with  determined  dis- 
courtesy. 

"  What !  in  the  kitchen  ?  I  want  it  put  where  it  will 
be  safe,  it's  full  of  my  best  things.  Who  occupies  this 
little  back  bed-room  opening  from  the  dining-room  ?" 

'•'Not  any  one.  Put  it  there,  if  you  please,"  said  Alice, 
with  a  little  propitiatory  civility,  to  atone  for  Leena's  wilful 
want  of  it. 

"  Well,  you  don't  ask  me  to  take  off  my  bonnet.  I 
shan't  wait  to  be  asked,  for  I  want  to  go  to  five  o'clock 
meeting,  and  I  intend  to  get  my  tea  here.  Dury,  just  step 
out  and  bring  in  my  things,  the  boy  took  them  out  of  the 
wagon  and  set  them  down  at  the  gate." 

There  was  a  faint  hope  shadowed  forth  in  the  remark, 
though  the  great  basket  did  not  furnish  a  very  available 
peg  to  hang  it  on,  that  her  intentions  were  not  so  merciless 
as  they  seemed ;  and  Mrs.  Thorn  proceeded  to  divest  her- 
self of  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  deposit  them  on  the  bed  in 
the  little  room  she  had  so  unceremoniously  appropriated  to 
her  own  use. 

"  Come,  now,  do  get  me  a  veil,  or  large  light  handker- 
chief, to  spread  over  my  bonnet,"  called  Mrs.  Thorn. 

"  Take  your  shawl,"  said  Leena. 

"  I  don't  want  my  shawl  specked  any  more  than  my 
bonnet.  Why  don't  you  keep  your  rooms  dark?  It's 
very  poor  management  to  have  blinds  opened  in  the  day 
time.  I  thought  you  were  snugger  housekeepers." 

15* 


854  SEA-SPRAY. 

"It  would  be  pleasanter  if  we  could  keep  cool  and 
shaded,"  said  Alice,  making  an  effort  to  be  civil,  to 
counteract,  as  far  as  in  her  power,  the  cloud  of  wrath 
which  she  saw  gathering  sternly  on  Leena's  counte- 
nance, "  but  we  have  a  large  family,  and  our  rooms  are  in 
constant  use  ;  they  are  necessarily  open." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  see  company  somewhere.  Where 
shall  I  sit?" 

"  Anywhere  you  please.  Our  business  just  now  is  in 
the  kitchen  ;  if  our  company  is  any  inducement,  you  can 
come  in  here." 

"  What,  by  this  great  fire  ?  That's  no  great  treat  this 
hot  weather." 

"  We  like  to  give  our  friends  a  warm  reception,"  said 
Leena,  as  Mrs.  Thorn  passed  along,  looking  for  a  com- 
fortable position  by  the  open  window. 

"  What,  baking  on  the  holy  Sabbath  day  ?"  exclaimed 
the  visitor,  as  she  espied  Dury's  tin  kitchen  baker  before 
the  fire.  "  I  am  surprised  at  such  heathenism.  You  must 
have  neglected  your  proper  duties,  or  you  would  have 
made  better  provision  for  the  holy  Sabbath  than  this. 
When  I  was  a  housekeeper  I  always  had  my  cooking  done 
on  Saturday.  I  feel  called  on  to  reprove  such  disregard 
of  the  Sabbath.  I  am  very  strict  myself  in  the  ob- 
servance of  it." 

"  It  is  right  of  course  to  be  so,"  replied  Alice,  speaking 
promptly,  to  prevent  an  explosion  elsewhere ;  "  but  we 
are  peculiarly  situated  at  present,  our  family  is  large  and 
very  irregular,  and  we  have  necessarily  a  number  up  all 
night,  who  need  refreshments.  It  is  sometimes  out  of  the 
question  to  calculate  to  a  fraction  the  extent  of  the  de- 
mand, or  of  our  resources  to  meet  it," 


SEA- SPRAY.  855 

"Thought  Miss  Thorn  knowed  sickness  made  work 
enough  'thout  comp'ny,"  said  Dury.  "  Well,  folks  wants 
ter  eat  eff  'tis  Sabby  day,  an  ivery  one't  comes  makes  one 
more." 

Mrs.  Thorn  did  not  notice  Dury's  unequivocal  hint,  but 
proceeded  to  catechise  her  with  regard  to  her  views  on 
various  doctrinal  points,  and  faithfulness  in  the  discharge 
of  sundry  duties  pertaining  to  her  situation. 

"  Dun  no  what  Miss  Thorn  means  by  all  her  minister 
talk.  T  allers  tend  to  do  as  near  right  as  I  kin,"  said  Dury, 
keeping  steadily  about  her  occupation. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  it's  right  to  be  making  bread, 
instead  of  going  to  meeting  ?  If  you  do,  I  don't." 

"  Yis,  marm,  I  do.  I  feels  eff  'ts  right  to  do  my  duty  jess 
as  much  Sabby  day  as  iny  other  day;  as  eff'ts  right  to 
mind  my  own  business.  Why  can't  Miss  Thorn  mind 
hern  ?" 

"  It  is  my  business  to  reprove  sin  and  ungodliness  where- 
ever  I  find  it,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  severely. 

"  Du  to  me,  I  would'n  go  runnin'  about  to  look  it  up, 
tho,"  said  Dury,  hanging  over  her  tea-kettle. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  get  tea  early.  I  should  like 
to  have  it  before  five  o'clock  meetin'  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorn,  who  was  keenly  alive  to  the  enjoyment  of  all 
creature  comforts. 

"  We  don't  niver  have  tea  afore  seven  o'clock ;  taint 
likely  we  shill  to-day,"  said  Dury,  with  an  inward  chuckle 
at  Mrs.  Thorn's  fallen  countenance. 

"  Well,  I  am  very  particular  about  my  tea.  1  will  have 
a  cup  of  weak  Bohea." 

"  Wonder  eff  Miss  Thorn  thinks  we  have  ivery  think  ? 
We  don't  keep  no  sich  tea  in  the  house." 


856  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Well,  can't  you  borrow  it  in  the  neighborhood  ?  Just 
run  out  and  see." 

"  Our  folks  don't  send  out  borryin'  Sabby  day.  Shun* 
think  Miss  Thorn'd  think  on't." 

Mrs.  Thorn  persisted  in  her  demand,  and  Dury  as  reso- 
lutely resisted  ;  and  Mrs.  Thorn  devised  another  plan. 

"  Lend  me  a  cup,  Dury,  and  I  will  go  myself.  It  is 
every  body's  duty  to  take  care  of  their  health.^ 

So  Mrs.  Thorn  made  her  reverence  for  the  "  holy  Sab- 
bath" yield  to  the  preferences  of  her  palate,  making  her 
health  the  plea  for  gossiping  about  the  neighborhood,  from 
house  to  house,  in  search  of  her  favorite  tea.  Greatly  to 
Dury's  delight  her  search  was  unsuccessful. 

The  bell  rung  for  the  service  at  five  o'clock,  and  Mrs. 
Thorn  cantered  off,  leaving  particular  directions  with  Dury 
not  to  "  draw"  her  tea  too  long,  nor  to  make  it  "  too  strong." 
She  did  not  like  tea  reduced,  but  wished  it  made  of  the 
desired  strength  at  .first. 

"  Won'r  eff  Miss  Thorn  thinks  um  gonter  spile  master's 
tea  to  please  her?  I  ain  gonter  nohow;"  and  Dury  made 
her  tea  a  degree  beyond  the  ordinary  quality,  muttering 
about  her  work,  "  Don't  see  what  sich  folks  was  made  for. 
Nothink  to  do  but  meddle  with  what  don't  concern  'em. 
Hot  in  our  kitchen  !  Guh  !  there's  hotter  places.  Shoun' 
care  eff  Miss  Thorn  was  in  'em.  Hope  she'll  paddle  off 
after  supper." 

Poor  Dury  was  "  taking  up  with  a  false  hope,"  to  use 
one  of  Mrs.  Thorn's  favorite  expressions,  as  applied  to 
matters  of  more  consequence  than  the  departure  of  an 
unwelcome  and  disagreeable  visitor. 

In  due  time  "  meeting  was  out,"  and  Mrs.  Thorn  re- 
turned in  great  trepidation,  lest  tea  should  be  over,  to 
give  orders  as  to  what  she  should  eat. 


SEA-SPRAT.  857 

"  I  can't  eat  fresh  bread,  Dury  ;  I  will  take  a  bit  of 
toast.  Make  it  nice  and  brown,  and  I  will  prepare  it 
to  suit  myself.  I  find  it  necessary  to  be  very  particular." 

"  Aint  got  no  bread  to  make  toast  on.  Miss  Thorn 
might  knowed  that." 

"  Well,  run  into  Mrs.  Fuller's  and  get  a  slice.  I  must 
have  it." 

"  Our  folks  don't  borry  Sabby  day  niver,  no  how." 

"  Then  you  can  make  just  a  nice  little  bit  of  johnny-cake 
for  me.  I  like  Indian  cookery  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn, 
coaxingly. 

"  Can't  do  no  onnecessary  cookin'  Sabby  day,  no  how." 

"  But  I  must  have  something  to  eat,  that  will  agree  with 
me,  my  stomach  is  so  weak." 

"  Them  as  carries  sich  troublesome  stomachs,  orter 
carry  their  own  vittles,  ef  they  go  visitin'  Sabby  day,"  said 
Dury,  determined  to  fight  the  dictatorial  visitor  with  her 
own  weapons. 

Notwithstanding  Dury's  contumacious  behaviour,  Mrs. 
Thorn  contrived,  by  exploring  the  pantry,  to  provide  for 
herself  a  meal  to  her  liking,  without  imposing  any  endan- 
gering tax  upon  her  stomach,  beyond  the  digesting  of  an 
unconscionable  quantity  of  heterogeneous  substances  ;  and 
tea  passed  over  without  any  violent  clashing  between  her 
and  Dury. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn  after  tea,  "  where  there 
are  so  many,  one  more  won't  make  much  difference.  You 
were  so  late  about  having  tea  that  I  can't  think  of  going 
out  in  the  dew.  I  shall  pass  the  night  with  you.  Where 
am  I  to  lodge  ?  I  am  ver)  particular  about  my  bed.  I 
should  like  to  see  to  the  arrangement  of  it  now,  if  you  will 
attend  to  it." 


858  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  You  can  take  the  room  where  you  put  your  basket," 
said  Alice,  indifferently. 

"  What !  and  sleep  down  stairs  alone  ?  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  sleeping  in  a  room  by  myself.  I  often  want  at- 
tention in  the  night,  and  I  am  timoursome.  I  must  be 
in  the  room  with  some  one." 

"  I  am  sorry  we  cannot  make  things  more  agreeable, 
Mrs.  Thorn,  but  we  have  no  other  apartment  unoccupied. 
Our  rooms  are  full.  Our  house  is  full  of  suffering  and 
sorrow,  and  we  cannot  devote  any  time  or  attention  to 
other  claims.  We  can  give  you  a  bed  and  a  shelter,  but 
we  have  no  ambition  at  present  to  make  our  house  plea- 
sant to  visitors.  Our  friends  will  have  to  take  us  as  they 
find  us,  if  they  come  to  see  us." 

Mrs.  Thorn  made  no  reply,  but  mounted  the  stairs  on  an 
exploring  expedition  among  the  sleeping  apartments  above, 
trotting  from  room  to  room,  in  quest  of  quarters  to  suit  her. 

"  There  are  two  beds  in  all  the  rooms.  I  should  like  to 
know  who  occupies  them,  that  I  can't  have  one  of  them," 
said  Mrs.  Thorn,  indignantly.  "  Who  has  the  room  over 
the  dining  room  ?" 

"  It's  mine,  to  have  and  to  hold,  and  to  make  fast  against 
all  invaders,"  said  Leena,  stoutly. 

"  It's  a  large  room,  with  two  beds.  You  don't  sleep  in 
both,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn.  "Why  can't  I  have 
one?" 

"  Because  Alice  has  it,"  said  Leena, 

"  Then,  surely,  there's  room  enough  with  one  of  you  for 
me,"  said  the  unflinching  intruder,  determined  to  carry  her 
point. 

"  There's  trouble  enough  in  the  house  now  ;  it  would  be 
wanton  wickedness  voluntarily  to  plant  a  Thorn  upon  our 


SEA*  SPRAY,  859 

own  pillows.  It's  a  thing  not  to  be  spoken  or  thought  of," 
said  Leena,  with  an  air  of  audacious  resolution. 

"  There's  a  cot  in  the  next  room,  then  ;  you  can  bring 
that  through  into  your  room  for  me." 

"  If  you  are  determined  to  give  us  the  pleasure  of  your 
company,  I  suppose  that  can  be  done,"  said  Alice,  willing 
to  get  along  with  an  unavoidable  annoyance  as  easily  as 
she  could  ;  "and  if  you  will  tell  just  what  you  will  have 
done,  I  will  attend  to  it." 

So  Mrs.  Thorn  again  mounted  to  the  chambers,  and  gave 
very  minute  directions  as  to  how  her  bed  should  be  ar- 
ranged, taking  especial  good  care  not  to  put  her  own 
hands  to  the  work,  but  watching  and  ordering  the  folding 
and  spreading  of  blankets  and  comfortables,  till  everything 
was  done  to  her  entire  satisfaction.  She  then  descended 
to  the  kitchen  in  quest  of  Dury,  giving  orders  to  have  a 
bathing  tub  and  water  taken  to  her  room,  with  all  sorts  of 
napkins,  and  means,  and  appliances  for  a  comfortable 
bath. 

"  I  aint  gonter  do  no  sich  thing.  Um  got  enough  to  do 
effl  do  what  b'longs  to  me,  an  wait  on  them  as  can't  wait 
on  themselves.  Looks  likely  our  folks  wants  poor  old  Dury 
to  do  all  that  are  onnecessary  work  Sabby  day.  When 
does  Miss  Thorn  think  Dury's  gonter  git  time  to  say  her 
prayers.  I  can't  do  no  sich  thing.  I  won't,  so  there." 

Dury's  wrath  was  roused,  and  language  in  indignant 
volubility  came  from  her  usually  silent  lips. 

"  Well,  well,  Dury.  If  you  can't  and  won't,  you  needn't 
be  so  touchy.  I  must  try  to  do  without  it ;  but  I  always 
take  a  bath  when  I  can." 

"  Wha's  Miss  Thorn  to  do  when  she  can't,"  growled 
Dury. 

Mrs.  Thorn  did  not  deign  any  reply,  being  intent  upon 
effecting  an  entrance  into  the  room  where  the  family  were 


360  SEA-SPRAY. 

holding  their  wordless  watch  around  the  couch  of  Ernest. 
But  watchful  eyes  were  upon  her — all  her  attempts  were 
fruitless;  and  her  only  chance  for  bringing  her  battery 
of  polemical  divinity  to  bear  upon  any  one,  was  based 
upon  the  hope  of  capturing  Ada,  as  she  occasionally  glided 
restlessly  through  the  apartment.  But  Ada  could  not  stop 
to  give  heed  to  anything  she  had  to  offer ;  and  Mrs.  Thorn 
could  only  look  unutterable  condemnation,  and  express 
with  a  shake  of  the  head,  which  conveyed  volumes  of  re- 
buke, her  entire  disapprobation  of  her  course.  All  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the.  night,  for  sharing  and  cheering 
Evelyn's  watch  by  Ernest;  Ada  was  persuaded  to  retire, 
and  the  household  prepared  to  separate,  to  rest  while  they 
could.  But  Mrs.  Thorn  was  not  ready  ;  "  she  chose  to  sit 
up.  She  was  not  sleepy.  It  was  the  pleasantest  time  to 
talk.  She  did  not  sleep  as  well  to  retire  before  she  was 
sleepy." 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  go  to  bed  in  this  house,  Dury  ? 
Don't  you  have  prayers." 

"  Be  shu',  we  do.  Gentleman  reads  prayers  in  gret 
room,  and  our  folks  allus  goes  in  ;  but  'spose  little  boy's  so 
low  now  he  can't  leave  him,  and  they  all  says  they  own 
prayers." 

"  I  am  in  the  habit  of  leading  in  prayer  in  families,  when 
I  am  asked.  I  would  do  it  here,  if  I  was  requested,"  said 
Mrs.  Thorn,  with- the  air  of  an  injured  individual. 

"  Hadn't  Miss  Thorn  just  lives  watch  ?"  asked  Dury. 

"  Anybody  can  watch,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  with  a  con- 
temptuous toss  of  her  head. 

"  Thought  good  book  said  must  watch  as  well  as  pray. 
Our  folks  watches.  Don't  Miss  Thorn  think  them  that 
watches  prays  too,  eff  they  don't  tell  ivery  body  on't  ?" 

Mrs.  Thorn  was  too  indignant  at  the  slight  put  upon  her 


SEA-SPEAY.  361 

powers  to  make  any  reply ;  and  finding  Dury  utterly  im- 
practicable, she  withdrew  to  her  chosen  quarters,  whither 
Leena  and  Alice  had  preceded  her.  The  attack,  so  unsuc- 
cessful upon  Dury,  was  vigorously  renewed  upon  her  silent 
room-mates,  who  quietly  laid  their  heads  upon  their  pillows 
and  uttered  not  a  word. 

Mrs.  Thorn  disrobed,  muttering,  as  she  did  so,  many  un- 
mistakable hints  about  being  requested  to  "lead  in  wor- 
ship ;"  but  finding  she  could  elicit  no  reply,  she  got  into  bed 
with  an  angry  flounce,  and  taking  her  snuff-box  and  hand- 
kerchief with  her,  sat  up  in  her  bed  snuffing  and  scolding. 

"  Yes,  I  know  how  'tis  ;  some  folks  are  too  proud  to  ask  a 
woman  to  conduct  family  worship.  I  have  done  it  in  very 
intelligent  families.  It's  oftentimes  the  case  that  women 
are  more  gifted  in  prayer  than  men  ;  they  have  more  near- 
ness and  freedom  of  approach  ;  they  have  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  wants,  and  requirements,  and  deficiencies 
of  families,  and  a  quicker  eye  to  discern  spiritual  dearth 
and  petty  sins,  and  short  comings  among  their  acquaint- 
ances. They  have  a  better  understanding  of  the  scriptures, 
and  are  oftentimes  more  thoroughly  indoctrinated  ;  but 
there's  none  so  deaf  as  them  that  won't  hear,"  and  Mrs. 
Thorn  put  out  the  light,  and  lay  down  with  an  angry  im- 
patient grunt,  and  was  soon  sound  asleep. 

With  the  earliest  beam  of  light,  Mrs.  Thorn  was  on  the 
move,  determined  to  do  her  duty  toward  the  heathenish 
family  upon  whose  hospitality  she  had  so  courageously  in- 
truded. Rolling  up  the  shades  to  let  in  the  light,  and  rais- 
ing the  windows  for  the  admission  of  the  chill,  dewy  air  of 
the  yet  misty  dawn,  she  took  her  seat  between  the  beds,  and 
read,  first,  in  a  twanging  and  disagreeable  tone,  aggravated 
perhaps  by  her  preposterous  application  of"  yellow  Scotch," 


S62  SEA-SPRAY. 

one  or  two  chapters  from  the  Bible.  Then  followed  the 
"  execution "  of  a  hymn  of  seven  or  eight  stanzas,  in  a 
cracked,  unmelodious  voice,  which  poured  out  at  the  open 
window  in  a  yell  of  discordant  vocality,  scaring  sleep  from 
the  drowsy  denizens  of  the  barn  yards,  and  waking  a  noisy 
response  from  rails  and  roosts.  This  feat  accomplished, — 
then  came  the  crowning  performance,  upon  which  Mrs.  Thorn 
built  her  claims  to  pre-eminence  as  a  leader  and  expounder 
of  all  questions,  doctrinal  or  scriptural.  Under  the  misno- 
mer of  prayer,  she  poured  forth  a  long  discursive,  declam- 
atory harangue,  full  of  objurgatory  expostulations,  and  with 
much  modest  and  meritorious  self-abnegation,  humbly  sug- 
gestive of  much  needed  reforms,  with  well  meant  hints  as 
to  available  expedients  for  removing  days  of  darkness  and 
spiritual  declension,  and  for  bringing  to  irrecoverable  rout 
and  overthrow,  all  sorts  and  denominations  of  doctrinal 
heresies,  particularly  "  New  Schoolism,"  "  Formalism," 
"  Methodism,"  and  "  Romanism,"  with  all  its  ramifications 
and  scarlet  abominations — a  prolix  homiletical  epitome  of 
her  own  peculiar  system  of  theological  polemics,  without 
one  supplicatory  cry  for  grace  or  guidance  for  the  future, 
or  one  penitent  petition  for  pardon  for  the  past. 

The  flowing  out  of  Mrs.  Thorn's  opinions,  when  she  had 
finished,  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  labored  argu- 
ment, setting  forth  the  claims  of  her  own  sectarian  views 
to  especial  favor  and  supremacy,  and  a  showing  of  reasons 
cogent  and  incontrovertible,  why  all  others  should,  with 
their  allies,  Sin  and  Satan,  be  cast  down  and  trodden  under 
foot.  Having  achieved  her  purpose  of  being  heard  in  her 
peculiar  gift,  Mrs.  Thorn,  with  smiling  self-complacency, 
commenced  the  pleasing  ceremonials  of  arranging  her 
morning  toilet,  spattering  and  splashing  the  water  over  fur- 


SEA-SPRAY.  863 

niture  and  carpet,  with  all  the  recklessness  of  a  dusty  duck 
in  the  first  fluttering  dive  of  aqueous  delectation.  There 
was  no  more  hope  of  sweet  morning  slumber,  when  Mrs. 
Thorn  was  awake,  for  she  had  always  at  command  a  super- 
abundance of  words,  which  must  find  delivery,  and  they 
came  crowding  and  jostling  each  other  to  the  passage,  so 
that  she  was  obliged  to  weave  her  talk,  as  she  could,  with 
two  threads,  the  warp  being  carefully  stretched  for  the 
edification  of  her  hearers,  while  the  woof  consisted  of  little 
demi-voice  asides,  shot  in  here  and  there  promiscuously 
for  her  own  benefit. 

"  Now,  I  always  make  it  a  point  when  I  am  visiting  about 
among  my  friends,  to  observe  how  they  manage  their  do  • 
mestic  affairs,  and  I  am  often-times  enabled  to  point  out  to 
them  their  deficiencies  in  many  little  matters,  which  might 
be  very  profitable  to  them,  if  they  would  receive  reproof 
in  a  teachable  spirit — (where  is  the  soap  ?)  There's  none 
so  wise  but  that  they  might  learn,  and  I  have  vanity  enough 
to  believe  that  I  know  some  things  it  wouldn't  hurt  you — 
(well  I've  made  my  foretop  look  very  becoming,)  to  know 
too.  I  think  it  is  very  improper  for  you  to  have  these 
strangers  in  your  house,  taking  up  your  time,  and  giving 
you  so  much  care,  night  and  day,  (there  goes  a  button !)  so 
that  you  have  no  time  to  entertain  your  friends.  I  had 
calculated  on  spending  several  weeks  with  you,  for  I  expect 
(I  guess  this  cap  is  clean  enough  till  after  breakfast)  Mr. 
Thorn  in  a  few  days,  and  1  had  written  (gingham  apron, 
this  morning)  to  him,  to  come  here,  for  I  knew  (shan't 
need  any  collar)  you  had  a  small  family,  and  could  make 
it  (plaid  cravat)  pleasant,  if  (now  what  have  I  done  with 
my  pin  ?)  you  would.  It  is  quite  a  disappointment,  (I  won- 
der who  gets  breakfast,)  for  Mr.  Thorn  is  very  particular, 


864  SEA-SPRAY. 

and  he  dislikes  the  worry  of  children,  (I  wonder  they  don't 
go  down,)  and  I  don't  know  now  where  to  take  him  (I  shall 
be  faint.)  I  think  you  are  very  easy  housekeepers.  What 
time,  pray,  do  you  have  breakfast  ?" 

"  Any  time  we  choose.  Probably  before  noon,"  replied 
Alice,  proceeding  leisurely  with  her  dressing.  "  We  are 
never  early ;  and  just  now,  we  particularly  wish  to  keep 
the  house  quiet  in  the  morning.  Ernest  rests  best  then, 
and  it  is  about  the  only  time  his  father  has  to  sleep  at  all." 

"  Well,  that  may  be  right,  (they  are  not  all  the  world), 
if  you  have  no  other  duties  ;  but  you  might  have  breakfast 
for  those  who  want  it.  (I'll  just  pick  up  my  clothes  for  the 
wash.)  I'm  used  to  having  mine  as  soon  as  I  am  up.  (I'm 
afraid  Dury'll  fade  this.)  I  feel  the  worse  all  day  if  I  am 
kept  waiting.  Don't  you  go  down  to  see  to  getting 
up  breakfast  ?" 

"  When  I  think  it  is  necessary.  There  will  be  nobody 
up  these  three  hours." 

"  If  that  don't  beat ! — nobody  up  in  three  hours !  What's 
Dury  about  (the  impudent  hussy)  all  the  morning,  if  you 
never  have  breakfast  ?" 

"  She  finds  enough  to  do.  She  is  never  idle,  nor  be- 
hind time." 

"  I  should  call  it  behind  time,  making  bread  on  the  holy 
Sabbath  day,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  with  a  shake  of  solemn 
condemnation. 

"  Since  you  are  so  much  annoyed  at  our  misdeeds,  Mrs. 
Thorn,  I  will  make  an  explanation,  which  I  did  not  conceive 
you  had  any  right  to  demand.  One  of  our  kindest  and 
most  obliging  neighbors  was  sick  Saturday,  and  her  family 
discomforted  and  disarranged.  We  sent  her  a  small  sup- 
ply of  provisions  for  a  day,  and  supplied  our  own  deficiency 
by  making  more  on  Sunday.  If  there  was  any  sin  in  the 


SEA-SPRAY.  £66 

act,  it  need  not  distress  you,  inasmuch  as  it  was  no  busi- 
ness of  yours,  and  you  can  in  no  shape  be  held  account- 
able." 

"  I  should  hold  myself  accountable  for  my  own  short- 
coming in  duty,  if  I  failed  to  be  instant  in  season  in  rebuk- 
ing the  shortcomings  I  see  in  families  where,  in  the 
providence  of  the  Lord,  I  am  sojourning.  Your  think- 
ing it  was  none  of  my  business,  does  not  justify  me  in 
putting  my  light  under  a  bushel.  I  dare  say  you  thought 
you  was  doing  a  kind,  neighborly  act ;  such  things  are 
oftentimes  done  without  right  reasoning.  Small  things 
lead  to  great  sins,  and  a  little  mistake  may  oftentimes  open 
the  way  to  great  backslidings  and  perversion  of  sound  or- 
thodox doctrine.  Now,  if  it  was  not  high  time  for  you  to 
go  to  getting  breakfast,  (I  may  as  well  get  my  knitting 
work,)  I  think  I  could  set  forth  this  thing  in  its  doctrinal 
bearings,  very  much  to  the  enlightenment  and  enlargement 
of  your  views.  I  hold  that  '  charity  begins  at  home,'  and 
that  disregarding  that  principle  led  to  Sabbath-breaking. 
(I  smell  coffee.)  Now,  it  is  oftentimes — (six  o'clock) " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Thorn,  if  you  have  got  upon  the  oftentimes 
thread  of  discourse,  there  will  be  no  end  to  you,  and  I 
can't  even  wait  to  hear  the  heads,"  said  Leena,  who  had 
been  preserving  profound  silence  under  all  the  modes  and 
forms  of  Mrs.  Thorn's  devotional,  doctrinal,  and  admoni- 
tory attack.  "  You  will  excuse  my  attendance  upon  the 
remainder  of  the  lecture,  or  you  will  have  to  dispense  with 
breakfast  an  hour  or  two  longer." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  for  I  must  attend  to  having  my 
breakfast  prepared  myself.  Your  food  yesterday  did  not 
agree  with  my  stomach  at  all ;  and  that  saucy  creature,  (I 
wonder  they  keep  her,  to  be  impudent  to  visitors,)  Dury, 
would  not  take  any  trouble  to  attend  to  my  wishes." 


366  SEA-SPKAY. 

So  Mrs.  Thorn,  knitting-work  in  hand,  descended  to  the 
kitchen,  to  reconnoitre  and  take  cognizance  of  all  matters 
having  relation,  directly  or  indirectly,  to  the  solemn  and 
weighty  subject  then  nearest  her  heart — her  stomach,  its 
immediate  gratification  and  subsequent  digestion." 

She  found  Dury  busy  with  her  churn,  and  in  a  more 
placable  humor,  having  had  remarkable  luck  in  her  butter- 
making  operations,  which  she  attributed  in  a  great  measure 
to  the  exorcising  powers  of  a  bunch  of  horse-shoes,  which 
had  been  from  time  to  time  suspended  in  the  pump-room, 
where  she  conducted  her  operations  in  warm  weather. 
With  grim  glee  she  volunteered  to  compound,  for  Mrs. 
Thorn's  especial  benefit,  a  rich  buttermilk  johnny-cake, 
which  proposition  the  mollified  lady  most  cordially  acceded 
to,  that  being  one  of  the  most  palatable,  and  at  the  same 
time  innocent,  edibles  of  her  acquaintance. 

The  belligerents  thus  brought  into  amicable  relations, 
matters  progressed  breakfastward  very  pleasantly,  and 
Mrs.  Thorn  indulged  in  much  common-sense  chat  _with 
Dury  about  sundry  culinary  mysteries,  in  which  she  was 
constrained  condescendingly  to  admit,  that — 

"  Though  she  did  not  often  turn  her  back  to  the  best 
of  housekeepers  in  the  way  of  cooking,  yet  there  were 
some  dishes  in  the  preparing  of  which,  somehow,  she  could 
never  quite  come  up  to  the  Indian  women." 

"  Ingen  wimmen,  guh  !  that's  great.  Why  don't  Miss 
Thorn  say  Squaw  ?"  said  Dury,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
indicating  great  contempt  for  the  unwonted  courtesy. 
"  Ingens  allus  says  Squaw.  White  folks  needn't  trouble. 
Ingen  wimmen !  Guh,  that's  mighty." 

In  due  time  the  family  assembled  in  the  breakfast-room, 
where,  much  to  Mrs.  Thorn's  discomposure,  and  not  with 


SEA-SPRAY.  867 

out  sundry  restive  manifestations  on  her  part,  Evelyn  read 
the  usual  morning  service,  Mrs.  Thorn  standing  bolt  up- 
right before  the  open  window  see-sawing,  and  apparently 
profoundly  absorbed  in  counting  a  huge  flock  of  fowls  in 
Captain  Melton's  yard. 

Ernest  was  reported  to  have  had  a  favorable  night,  and 
was  refreshed  and  comfortable.  Ada  came  down  from  her 
room  looking  composed  and  revived,  and  matters  wore  a 
more  than  ordinarily  cheerful  aspect.  So  Mrs.  Thorn  was 
suifered  to  toddle  about  the  house,  peeping  and  prying  into 
all  its  arrangements,  reproving  and  reprimanding  with 
full  license,  for  nobody  was  in  the  humor  to  regard  her  ill- 
bred  captiousness. 

After  examining  everything,  and  passing  a  general  vote 
of  censure  for  inconvenience  of  arrangement,  faultiness  of 
construction,  and  glaring  disregard  of  economy,  Mrs.  Thorn 
made  another  descent  upon  the  kitchen,  bringing  with  her 
a  bundle  of  soiled  wearing  apparel. 

"  What,  Dury  !  not  got  to  washing  yet  ?  and  this  such 
a  fine  day.  You  ought  to  have  your  clothes  out  by  this 
lime.  I  suppose  I  can  have  some  washing  done  here,  if 
you  ever  get  ready  to  begin  ?" 

"I  ain  gonter  wash  to-day,"  replied  Dury,  walking  out, 
without  further  comment. 

"  Not  wash  Monday  ?"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  seeking  Alice 
in  the  dining  room;  "I  thought  everybody  washed  Mon- 
day the  world  over.  Do  you  have  any  system  about  any- 
thing in  your  house-keeping  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Alice,  "  we  are  very  systematic  in  doing 
just  as  we  please.  Have  you  any  objections  to  urge  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  have.  I  depended  upon  having  my 
washing  done  here,  and  it  puts  me  out  in  my  calculations. 


368  SEA- SPRAY. 

I  can't  be  tugging  a  basket  of  dirty  clothes  from  house  to 
house.  Besides,  I  have  put  off  having  any  washed  till  I 
got  here,  and  I  shall  need  them.  Why  don't  you  wash 
Monday  ?" 

"  We  don't  wash  at  all  in  the  house.  We  don't  want 
the  bother  and  confusion  of  such  work.  Our  great  object 
is  to  be  quiet,  and  to  avoid  all  disturbance  in  and  about 
the  house.  We  feel  deeply  interested  for  the  friends  who 
are  suffering  under  our  roof,  and  for  the  dying  child,  who 
is  a  favorite  and  pet  with  us  all,  and  we"  can't  be  troubled 
with  any  work  that  can  be  dispensed  with." 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  all  just  as  you  say,  but  you  can't  expect 
me  to  give  way  to  such  notions.  I  hold  it  to  be  a  Christian 
duty  to  submit." 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  submit  to  the  afflictions  of  others," 
said  Alice.  "  I  am  sorry  if  you  are  put  to  inconvenience.' 

"  Oh,  it  won't  be  much.  I  guess  Dury  will  find  time  in 
the  course  of  the  day  to  do  my  washing.  Just  to  rub  out 
a  dozen  pieces  or  so.  I  will  go  and  tell  her  about  it,  for  I 
don't  like  to  have  my  dresses  faded." 

"  You  can  send  your  clothes  out,  Mrs.  Thorn,  if  you 
choose.  We  send  ours  out,  and  have  them  very  nicely 
done." 

"  What,  send  my  wash  out  and  pay  by  the  piece  ?  It 
will  be  after  to-day  that  I  do  that." 

Mrs.  Thorn  again  sought  Dury,  and  gave  her  very  ex- 
plicit orders  about  her  work.  This  must  be  blued,  and 
that  must  be  starched,  and  that  dried  in  the  shade,  and 
that  laid  on  the  grass,  and  this  must  not  be  wrung,  and  that 
must  not  be  rinsed,  and  so  on  to  the  end ;  which,  having 
done,  she  took  her  bonnet  and  umbrella,  and  announcing 
her  intention  of  returning  soon,  went  out  to  make  calls. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 

"  WHAT  shill  I  do,  Miss  Ally,  with  these  ere  duds  ?  Shill 
I  go  at  'em." 

"  Pack  them  up,  Dury,  and  take  them  to  Mrs.  Ed- 
monds. Tell  her,  as  near  as  you  can,  all  that  Mrs.  Thorn 
directed  ;  have  them  washed,  ironed,  aired,  and  mended 
even,  if  they  require  it,  and  charged  with  our  account. 
Mrs.  Thorn  is  a  general  nuisance,  but  we  have  as  little 
plague  with  her  as  most  folks,  and  may  as  well  bear  our 
share  of  the  infliction  patiently." 

"  Guh  !  eff  Miss  Thorn  was  in  'em,  wouldn't  old  Squaw 
make  pounder  fly  ?"  said  Dury,  as  she  rolled  up  her 
budget. 

A  light  step  passed  cautiously  in  at  the  office  entrance, 
and  Mr.  Alden  appeared  in  the  apartment  where  Leena 
and  Alice  were  sitting,  rejoicing  over  their  temporary  relief 
from  Mrs.  Thorn.  His  first  inquiries  were  of  Ernest. 

Ernest  was  bright,  and  Allen  was  attending  at  his  bed- 
side, meeting  all  his  wants,  and  cheering  him  with  such 
little  conversation  as  amused  and  interested  him.  Evelyn 
had  just  retired  to  seek  an  hour's  repose,  and  the  Colonel  had 
gone  out  to  look  about  his  garden  and  fields.  The  house 
was  hushed,  and  Mr.  Alden  and  his  companions  were  car- 

Iti 


370  SEA-SPRAY. 

rying  on  their  conversation  in  subdued  tones,  when  Ada 
came  in  from  Ernest's  apartment  and  joined  them.  She 
looked  haggard  and  miserable.  There  was  a  restless, 
wandering,  wild  expression  in  her  glance ;  a  hesitating, 
unsettled  vacillation  of  manner,  which  was  more  than 
usually  apparent,  and  which  perplexed  and  distressed  those 
who  observed  it.  Mr.  Alden  expressed  his  gratification  at 
hearing  so  favorably  of  Ernest,  to  which  Ada  replied  by  a 
burst  of  tears  and  frantic  expressions  of  grief. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Alden,  how  shall  I  live,  and  see  every  day  the 
dreadful  gulf  deepening  and  widening  which  forms  the 
eternal  separation  between  me  and  my  child  ?"  He  every 
hour  growing  more  pure  and  spiritual,  and  I  every  hour 
sinking  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  sin  that  parts  us  forever. 
Oh,  it  is  dreadful  that  I  must  live.  More  dreadful,  that,  if 
I  could,  I  dare  not  die."  Ada  wrung  her  hands,  and  paced 
the  room  in  a  storm  of  passionate  sorrow,  which  Mr. 
Alden  sought  in  vain  to  soothe. 

"  You  are  overcome  with  fatigue  and  grief,  and  you 
take  too  desponding  a  view  of  things.  Come,  sit  down 
now,  and  let  us  look  at  the  case  in  a  more  consoling  light. 
Consider,  my  dear  madam,  this  trial,  very  painful,  almost 
insupportably  so,  I  admit^  it  must  be ;  but  consider,  I  be- 
seech you,  this  trial  is  only  for  this  little  present — this  brief, 
fleeting  now ;  while  the  joys  for  which  your  child  is  being 
so  beautifully  perfected,  are  of  endless  and  unfading  en- 
durance. This  parting,  transient.  That  meeting,  eternal !" 
"  Talk  not  to  me  of  meeting  my  child  again.  What ! 
the  stained  with  the  stainless  ?  the  sinning  with  the  sinless? 
Impossible  !  Oh,  you  know  not  the  deadly  weight  that  is 
sinking  me  in  despair ;  you  have  no  conception  of  the  utter 
hopelessness  of  my  misery.  Oh,  I  would  tell  you  all, 


SEA-SPRAY.  371 

everything,  if  I  thought  you  could  lift  one  atom  of  this 
fearful  burden  from  my  soul." 

Alice  rose,  saying  to  Leena  it  was  time  for  them  to 
attend  to  some  pressing  domestic  concerns ;  they  left  the 
room,  Ada  calling  after  them  : 

"  Don't  leave  me.  I  have  nothing  to  say  which  you  may 
not  hear.  Oh,  that  I  dare  unburden  my  heart  to  some  one 
who  would  pity  and  console  me." 

Then  turning  to  Mr.  Alden,  as  if  prompted  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  : 

"  If  I  speak  to  you  of  myself,  of  my  sorrows  and  my 
sins,  will  you  have  patience  to  hear  and  kindness  to  pity  ? 
Will  you  keep  my  secret  a  little  while  ?  Will  you  aid  me 
with  your  counsel  ?  Sinner  as  I  am,  will  you  comfort  me 
in  this  fearful  hour  with  your  commiseration  ?" 

"  Most  assuredly.  I  will  aid  you  by  every  consistent 
effort  in  my  power,  by  counsel,  and  care,  and  kindness, 
and  sympathy,  to  regain  your  peace  of  mind.  I  cannot 
think  that  you  are  just  to  yourself  in  your  vehement  self- 
accusings.  You  are  suffering  yourself  to  be  made  misera- 
ble by  the  morbid  suggestions  of  a  too  sensitive  and 
thinking  conscience.  Things  are  not  so  bad.  " 

The  good  clergyman  sought  to  re-assure  the  suffering 
woman  before  him,  by  speaking  more  from  the  promptings 
of  his  wishes  than  his  hopes,  for  in  truth  he  had  long  had 
his  misgivings  and  forebodings  of  evil.  Ada  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  a  fearful  struggle  shook  her 
frame;  but  she  spoke  at  length,  calmly,  distinctly,  de- 
liberately, as  if  weighing  every  word  with  the  firmness  of 
a  desperate  resolve. 

"  What  I  am  about  to  tell  you  is  known  to  no  human 
being.  It  is  a  secret  between  my  own  soul  and  my  God. 


372  SEA-SPRAY. 

Spurn  me  if  you  will  when  you  have  heard  it ;  it  matters 
but  little  now,  for  I  am  reckless.  I  only  stipulate  for  for- 
bearance while  Ernest  lives;  I  would  not  that  his  last 
hours  should  be  darkened  by  a  cloud  so  cold.  I  would  not 
he  should  know  me  an  outcast  from  his  father's  heart. 
Evelyn  has  told  you  the  circumstances  of  our  first  ac- 
quaintance, and  of  our  subsequent  marriage  ?" 

"  He  has.  You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  I  thought  he 
was  rash." 

"  He  told  you  the  entire  truth  so  far  as  he  knew.  In 
everything  he  was  blameless.  He  was  only  too  trusting 
and  too  noble,  when  he  took  to  his  heart  the  chilled  viper 
which  he  cherished  but  to  sting  him !  Too  pure  and  con- 
fiding himself  to  dream  of  deception  in  me  !  When  I  mar- 
ried Walter  Evelyn  I  was  the  wife  of  another.  I  broke 
the  solemn  vows  I  had  plighted  before  God  at  the  altar.  I 
forsook  the  innocent  child  God  had  given  me.  I  placed 
the  infernal  gulf  between  my  own  soul  and  all  that  I 
loved,  and  an  eternal  anathema  between  myself  and  every 
thing  happy  and  holy. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  curse  any  of  God's  creatures,"  said 
the  pastor,  solemnly,  "  neither  is  it  for  me  to  remove  the 
curse  pronounced  against  sin.  You  asked  for  pity  ;  from 
my  soul  I  do  pity  you.  I  would  I  could  extricate  you  from 
this  terrible  web  of  your  own  weaving.  There  is  but  one 
way.  You  asked  for  counsel.  It  is  stern  counsel ;  I  can 
give  you  no  other.  You  must  acknowledge  your  guilt  to 
the  man  you  have  so  cruelly  deceived,  and  separate  your- 
self from  him  at  once." 

With  one  low,  stifled,  wailing  cry,  Ada  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  stood  with  uplifted  hands  before  the  calm,  stern 
clergyman,  who,  though  surprised  and  pained  in  heart,  had 
so  unflinchingly  doomed  her. 


SEA-SPRAY.  373 

"  Man,  man,  you  are  merciless !  What !  be  my  own  exe- 
cutioner? Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  communion  in  a  better 
world,  shall  I  dash  to  the  earth  the  only  cup  of  blessedness 
in  this  ?  I  can  die  ;  but  I  cannot  live  and  do  this." 

"  Alas  !  alas !  Mrs.  Evelyn  !  there  is  no  alternative  ! 
Look  away  from  this  perishing  world.  Do  not,  I  do  beseech 
you,  do  not,  to  secure  a  little  more  fatally  sinful  indulgence 
for  the  brief  remnant  of  your  earthly  future,  wilfully  peril 
your  precious  eternal  interests.  Be  assured  this  cannot 
last.  You  are  certain  sooner  or  later  to  be  exposed. 
Even  the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me  renders  it 
impossible  that  this  secret  should  be  kept.  I  should  be  sin- 
ning against  the  clearest  convictions  of  duty,  if  I  suffered 
a  man  I  so  deeply  esteem  and  love,  to  continue  in  igno- 
rance of  the  position  in  which  he  stands.  Consider  this, 
and  act  upon  it.  Save  yourself  some  little  grace  in  his 
heart,  by  an  open,  honest,  voluntary  confession.  It  is 
your  only  course.  Tell  him  yourself." 

Ada  was  silent.  She  had  hoped  for  some  sustaining  sym- 
pathy—  for  some  partial  connivance,  perhaps,  in  preserving 
her  secret,  and  eluding  detection.  She  was  terrified  at  the 
position  in  which  she  found  herself,  and,  the  first  astound- 
ing shock  a  little  over,  she  was  softened  and  subdued,  and 
the  streaming  tears  on  her  pale,  cold  cheek,  melted  the  in- 
dignant sternness  of  the  pastor's  mood,  to  soothing  and 
compassionate  forgiveness.  Ada  sat  down  by  his  side,  and 
with  sobbings  and  tears  told  him  her  temptation  and  her 
troubles ;  her  long  years  of  dread,  and  remorse,  and  sor- 
row; of  her  changed  temper  and  destroyed  health,  of  the 
arrival  of  her  husband  and  her  child,  of  her  terrors  of  being 
detected,  and  of  the  agonized  yearnings  of  a  mother's 
heart  for  the  forsaken  child,  now  so  near  her.  It  was  all 


374  SEA-SPRAY. 

simply  and  unreservedly  set  forth,  and  deeply  did  her 
hearer  pity,  what  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  as  deeply 
condemn. 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  How  shall  I  act  in  this  dreadful 
hour?" 

"  Do  right,  my  poor  child.  There  is  no  middle  ground 
in  this  question  between  positive  right  and  positive  wrong. 
For  a  few  days  we  will  go  on  quietly  as  we  are.  I  deem 
it  best  for  all,  that  we  should  do  so.  You  will  have  time 
to  discipline  your  feelings  for  the  trial.  Let  me  urge  you 
to  accustom  yourself  to  the  idea  of  a  separation,  as  speedily 
as  may  be  from  Mr.  Evelyn.  Believe  me,  when  this 
wretched  secret  is  off  your  heart,  you  will  experience  a 
relief,  which  will  compensate  for  all  the  pain  it  costs  you 
to  cast  it  off.  You  will  feel  a  peace  you  cannot  have 
known  for  long,  long,  weary  years." 

"Peace!  shall  I  ever  again  know  peace?     Oh!  if  you 
knew  all  the  ceaseless  misery  I  have  endured,  the  bitter 
remorseful  upbraidings,  you  would  feel  that  1  had  pur 
chased  pardon — that  I  might  claim  peace." 

Mr.  Alden  shook  his  head  with  a  grave  look  of  dissent. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  madam  !  regret,  however  deep  and  har- 
rowing, for  the  consequences  of  sin,  is  not  that  '  godly  sor- 
rowing for  sin  which  waketh  repentance.'  Remorse  for 
sin  persisted  in,  is  not  penitence.  '  When  the  wicked  man 
turneth  away  from  his  wickedness  that  he  hath  committed, 
and  doeth  that  which  is  lawful  and  right,  he  shall  save  his 
soul  alive.'  It  is  to  those  '  who  with  hearty  repentance 
and  true  faith  turn  unto  Him,'  that  our  Heavenly  Father 
promised  forgiveness.  I  should  be  an  unworthy  worker  in 
my  Master's  vineyard,  if  I  suffered  you  to  rest  in  any  other 
hope." 


SEA-SPRAY.  -   375 

"  Oh,  you  mistake  me  entirely  if  you  imagine  I  am  hug- 
ging to  my  heart  any  delusion  in  the  shape  of  hope,  any 
dream  of  reconciliation  either  with  God  or  man.  No,  no, 
I  am  hopeless  in  life  and  despairing  in  death.  But  surely 
there  was  much  in  the  circumstances  in  which  I  was  placed, 
if  not  to  justify,  at  least  to  palliate ;  if  not  to  excuse,  to  ex- 
tenuate ?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  we  may  be  sure  we  stand  on  fear- 
ful ground,  when  we  would  silence  the  upbraidings  of  an 
unquiet  conscience,  by  seeking  palliation  for  sins.  Think 
not  that  I  am  hard  and  stern.  I  doubt  not  that  you  have 
suffered,  and  sorrowed,  and  often  repented  ;  but  repentance 
without  communication  of  sin,  profiteth  nothing.  Of  what 
avail  is  it  that  the  drunkard  bemoans  ruined  health,  and 
blighted  hopes,  and  wasted  energies,  and  broken  hearts,  if 
he  still  cling  to  his  cup,  quaffing  the  destroyer,  while  he 
quails  at  the  destruction  ?  Of  what  avail  is  it,  that  the 
gambler  looks  back  with  remorseful  regret  upon  his  wasted 
patrimony,  gnashing  his  teeth  in  the  withering  and  tortur- 
ing tauntings  of  memory,  as  he  shivers,  and  starves,  and 
sighs  for  his  squandered  resources  ;  if  he  still  haunts  the 
card  table,  or  the  billiard  room,  or  grasps  the  dice-box  ? 
Genuine  repentance  brings  amendment,  without  which 
there  is  no  'remission  of  sins.'" 

Ada  listened,  but  she  could  not  yet  unresistingly  yield. 
She  felt  that  her  sorrow  and  long  years  of  concealed  un- 
happiness  should  be  taken  as  atonement,  at  least  in  part, 
for  the  sin  that  had  caused  them,  and  she  renewed  her 
plea  with  Mr.  Alden. 

"  But  I  have  been  so  wretched.  Everything  that  to 
others  brings  joy,  has  to  me  been  a  curse  ;  even  my  dear- 
est blessings  have  been  turned  into  scorpions  to  sting  me. 


376  SEA-SPEAY. 

The  innocent  caresses  of  my  children,  even  when  my  heart 
yearned  over  them,  touched  to  agony  the  rankling  arrow 
within  me.  Every  word  of  trustful  affection  from  Walter 
Evelyn,  every  gift  of  his  lavish  bounty,  every  look  of 
his  anxious  love,  or  kind  expression  of  sympathy,  when  sor- 
rowing and  suffering,  was  but  the  weapon  to  awaken 
remorse.  The  husband  I  had  betrayed  and  dishonored,  the 
blessed  cherub  I  had  abandoned,  looked  out  from  every 
pleasant  prospect  to  reproach  and  mock  me.  I  heard 
their  voices  on  every  breeze  ;  I  felt  their  presence  in  every 
scene  ;  and  while  I  loved  Evelyn  and  his  children  with  a 
mad,  idolatrous  love,  I' felt  that  the  homage  with  which  my 
heart  bowed  down  to  them  was  a  profanation  and  a  mock- 
ery, an  unhallowed  offering  at  a  shrine  so  holy  as  their 
unquestioning  and  guileless  hearts.  And  then,  my  blessed 
Edith !  oh,  were  not  these  mute  lips  an  ever-present  re- 
proach to  me,  more  eloquent  in  their  speechless  beauty 
than  aught  that  tongue  could  ever  hope  to  syllable  ?  And 
now — now,"  said  Ada,  rising,  and  wildly  throwing  up  her 
arms — "  now,  my  darling,  dying  Ernest, — when  I  think 
that  for  my  sins  he  too  turns  away  his  steps  from  earth,  I 
feel  almost  ready  to  curse  God  and  die." 

"  Hush,  hush !  this  is  mad  blasphemy,"  said  the  pastor, 
laying  his  hand  on  her  arm  with  a  stern  look.  "  It  is  lan- 
guage to  which  it  is  too  painful  to  listen.  Be  still,  and 
speak  such  words  no  more." 

"  What  must  it  be,  think  you,  to  feel  it  ?  I  tell  you, 
when  I  look  on  that  sweet,  smiling  face,  so  pure  and  peace- 
ful, already  gleaming  with  the  light  of  a  glorious  immor- 
tality, it  awakens  a  remorseful  pang  in  my  soul,  even 
more  searching  than  the  blasting  blaze  from  the  terrible 
Gehenna." 


SEA-SPRAY.  377 

Ada  reeled,  and  sunk  into  a  seat  exhausted  and  power- 
less. The  kind  clergyman  looked  upon  her  with  deep 
commiseration  not  unmingled  with  alarm.  He  felt  that 
the  conversation  had  been  too  exciting  for  her  frail  and 
failing  physical  energies,  and  he  almost  reproached  himself 
with  having  been  too  severe  and  unyielding  with  the  poor, 
sinning,  and  remorseful  sufferer  ;  but  he  thought  within 
himself:  "  He  that  justifieth  the  wicked,  and  he  that  con- 
demneth  the  just,  even  they  both  are  an  abomination  to 
the  Lord." 

"  '  The  Lord  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  bindeth 
up  their  wounds,'  "  repeated  the  pastor,  solemnly  and  ten- 
derly, as  Ada  lifted  her  head  and  shook  back  the  soft 
silken  tresses  which  had  fallen  over  her  face.  "  Call  upon 
Him,  dear  Mrs.  Evelyn  ;  make  known  all  your  sorrows  to 
Him,  who  alone  can  send  peace  and  consolation.  Surely 
you  believe  none  ever  called  in  vain  who  called  in  sincerity 
and  truth.  Out  of  the  depths  of  this  mighty  affliction,  cry 
unto  Him  who  never  deafened  his  ear  to  the  pleadings  of 
penitence." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Alden,  wicked  and  worthless  as  I  am,  I  cannot 
attempt  to  practise  any  deception  upon  you  now.  My 
thoughts  are  all  of  earth.  It  is  that  too  dear  earthly  judge 
before  whose  sentence  I  shrink  with  shuddering  dread.  It 
is  his  frown  I  fear,  his  wrath  alone  I  deprecate — from  him 
that  I  would  call  on  the  rocks  and  the  mountains  to 
hide  me.  To  escape  that  terrible  reckoning  with  him,  I 
would  brave  everything  else  that  human  hand  could  inflict 
or  human  heart  conceive  of  torture." 

"  And  why  should  you  '  fear  them  which  kill  the  body, 
but  are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul  ?  Rather  fear  Him  which 
is  able  to  destroy  both  body  and  soul  in  hell,' "  replied  Mr. 

16* 


378  SEA-SPRAY. 

Alden,  beginning  to  despair  of  making  any  favorable  im 
pression  upon  the  intractable  spirit  with  which  he  had  to 
deal.     A  doubt  began  to  arise  in  his  mind  which  had  never 
before  suggested  itself,  and  he  shaped  his  speech  accord- 
ingly. 

"  I  take  it  for  granted  I  am  speaking  to  one  who,  what- 
ever her  own  personal  testimony  may  have  been,'  believes, 
humbly  and  devoutly,  all  the  precepts  and  teachings  of  her 
own  holy  and  blessed  Communion  ?" 

Ada  groaned  in  anguish  of  heart  at  this  question,  feeling 
keenly  all  that  it  implied. 

"  Even  this,  even  this,  too,  I  must  bear,  not  the  least  bit- 
ter among  my  countless  array  of  sins — -that  I  have  brought 
scandal  and  shame  on  the  Church  in  whose  bosom  I  was 
nurtured,  from  whose  altar  my  father  went  up,  a  faithful 
servant,  to  the  reward  of  his  stewardship — at  which  the 
husband  and  guide  of  my  youth  now  breaks  the  bread  of 
life — where  I  was  bound  in  the  solemn  marriage  vows 
which  I  have  madly  broken — and  where  my  first-born  and 
forsaken  was  presented  for  baptism  by  the  false  mother, 
who  forswore  her  sponsorial  vows.  Oh,  I  am  doubly  and 
trebly  curst ! — in  the  blighted  past — in  the  wretched  pre- 
sent— in  the  hopeless  future.  Which  way  shall  I  turn  ?'' 

"  Return  unto  the  Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon 
you;  and  to  our  God,  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Alden,  deeply  moved  at  the  distress  he  witnessed, 
and  painfully  perplexed  as  to  the  best  method  of  dealing 
with  a  case  so  baffling. 

Ada  looked  up  for  a  moment  with  an  anxious,  inquiring 
glance  into  the  face  of  the  clergyman,  and  then  asked, 
doubtingly  and  humbly  : 

"  Can  1  return  ?     Can  one  who  has  profaned   with  un- 


SEA.-SPRAY.  379 

hallowed  touch   the  blessed  symbols  of  redeeming  love, 
dare  to  look  up,  and  pray  to  be  forgiven  ?" 

"  For  a  small  moment  have  I  forsaken  thee,  but  with 
great  mercies  will  I  gather  thee.  In  a  little  wrath  I  hid 
my  face  from  thee'  for  a  moment,  but  with  everlasting 
kindness  will  I  have  mercy  on  thee,  saith  the  Lord  thy 
Redeemer,"  responded  the  pastor. 

Ada  extended  her  hand  to  him,  while  a  faint  smile 
gleamed  through  her  tears,  as  she  said,  "I  thank  you;  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  you  have  driven  me  to  my 
only  refuge.  '  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father.'  I  will 
struggle  and  strive  for  pardon,  in  penitence  and  contrition 
of  heart.  Come  often  to  see  me.  I  shall  cling  to  you,  to 
save  me  from  myself." 

After  closing  his  long  and  agitating  interview  with  Ada, 
Mr.  Alden  stepped  into  the  room  where  Allen  was  sitting 
by  the  couch  of  Ernest.  Ada  retired  to  her  own  room 
to  weep,  and  commune  with  her  struggling  heart,  to  bend 
with  blinding  tears  over  the  pages  of  her  Bible,  and  with 
groanings  and  anguish  of  spirit  to  pray  and  seek  counsel 
of  her  Maker. 

Ernest  put  forth  his  hand  in  cheerful  and  affectionate 
greetings  of  Mr.  Alden,  whose  unvarying  gentleness  and 
kindness  had  won  his  love. 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  this  pleasant  morning,  my 
dear  little  friend  ?"  asked  the  pastor,  taking  the  proffered 
hand  between  his  own,  and  greeting  Allen  with  a  smile, 
and  cheerful  "  good  morning,  Allen." 

"Oh,  very  bright  and  cheerful,  Mr.  Alden.  I  have 
nothing  to  do  but  lie  here  and  be  very  happy,  looking  into 
the  faces  I  love  :  always  kind  faces  and  loving  looks  around 
me.  If  they  would  not  sometimes  look  so  sad,  I  should 


SEA-SPRAT. 

feel  nothing  but  joy.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  morning  out,  I 
suppose?  It  is  light  and  pleasant  everywhere.  I  hear  the 
birds  singing  on  the  trees,  the  little  rustling  of  the 
bright  green  leaves,  and  the  solemn  roaring  of  the  sea ; 
they  are  all  pleasant  sounds  to  me,  and  I  wish  there  was 
no  such  thing  as  sorrow  on  the  earth.  When  I  think 
that  all  these  will  be  when  I  am  gone,  I  wish  that  they 
could  sound  as  sweet  and  soothing  to  those  I  love  as  they 
now  sound  to  me.  Here's  Allen,  too,  sitting  so  still  and 
quiet  all  these  long  hours  by  my  bed,  when  I  hear  the  boys 
whooping  and  shouting  at  their  play ;  he  shakes  his 
head  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  when  I  say  it  is  wearisome 
for  him,  and  says  he  would  rather  be  here.  And  papa  sits 
here,  so  watchful  and  patient,  never  sleeping,  never  tired  ; 
and  mother,  with  her  sad,  pale  face!  Oh,  if  they  only  would 
not  mind  it."  And  the  lids  fell  softly  on  the  marble  cheek, 
and  the  boy  sunk  into  slumber. 

Mr.  Alden  looked  with  an  aching  heart  on  the  beautiful 
boy  in  his  quiet  sleep,  and  thought  of  the  trial  he  would  be 
spared,  and  of  the  crushing  blow  which  hung  over  his 
father,  of  the  sinful,  suffering  mother,  and  he  wondered, 
"  why  are  these  things  so  ?"  and  his  thoughts  replied  to 
their  own  questioning  :  "  Thy  way  is  on  the  sea,  and  thy 
paths  in  the  great  waters,  and  thy  footsteps  are  not 
known."  And  he  stooped  down  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
kissed  the  brow  of  the  sweet,  sleeping  boy,  and  turned  his 
steps  towards  his  own  cheerful,  happy  home,  with  sorrow 
in  his  heart. 

And  so  day  passed  after  day — they  watched,  and 
waited,  and  wept.  Ernest  slumbered,  and  lifted  his 
little  hands  in  prayer,  and  smiled  and  slumbered  again  ; 
and  woke,  and  smiled,  and  spoke  sweet,  loving  words ;  and 


SEA-SPRAY.  381 

kissed  away  the  tears  that  streamed  as  they  bent  over  him. 
It  was  a  beautiful  bright  evening,  the  moon  looked  in  at 
the  open  window  on  his  pillow,  the  wave  which  he  loved 
to  listen  to  dashed  mournfully  on  the  beach,  and  the  dew 
glistened  on  the  quivering  leaves.  Ernest  looked  forth, 
and  listened,  and  said  it  was  all  so  pleasant  and  beautiful ; 
he  lifted  his  dear  little  trembling  hands,  and  they  all  said, 
"  Our  Father"  with  him..  His  voice  was  full,  and  clear, 
and  sweet;  then  he  gave  them  his  goodnight  kiss,  and 
said  he  should  "  bid  them  good-night  early,  for  he  was 
so  sleepy."  He  turned  his  head  on  his  pillow  with 
a  sweet  smile,  the  snowy  lids,  with  their  long  silken 
lashes,  drooped,  and  drooped,  and  fell.  Ernest  slumbered, 
and  never  lifted  them  again. 

There  was  silence,  sadness,  and  deep  gloom  over 
all  the  house,  for  the  little  blessed  spirit  had  departed, 
and  the  sweet,  smiling,  deserted  clay  that  had  been  its 
dwelling,  the  "  outward  and  visible  sign  "  of  the  loved  and 
loving  Ei  nest,  lay  in  its  spotless  garments,  and  lifted  the 
soft,  shadowy  eyes  to  meet  their  gaze  no  more. 

Evelyn  still  kept  his  silent,  patient  watch  beside  him, 
in  calm  uncomplaining  submission ;  grieving,  and  lonely,  and 
lost  without  his  heart-filling  occupation  ;  a  Christian,  hum- 
ble and  trusting  in  his  unfaltering  faith ;  a  father,  tenderly 
sorrowing  in  the  depths  of  his  wounded  heart. 

Ada  was  coldly  calm.  Silent  in  her  suffering,  but  with 
writhings  of  heart  veiled  from  all  human  scrutiny ;  with 
strange,  wild,  conflicting  emotions  too  turbulent  for  ten- 
derness or  tears ;  kneeling  by  her  departed  child  with  a 
thrill  of  savage  joy  that  he  was  gone  without  knowledge 
of  her  sin ;  then  with  a  gush  of  anguish  that  she  had  not 
told  him  all  her  crushing  sorrow,  and  implored  his  pity  and 


382  SEA-SPRAT. 

his  prayer ;  one  moment  exulting  at  her  own  escape,  ano- 
ther shocked  and  horrified,  and  loathing  herself  for  the 
cruel  thought ;  avoiding  Evelyn  with  a  cold,  determined  in- 
difference, which  distressed  and  wounded  him,  and  preserv- 
ing a  stern,  steady  self-command  which  astonished  him. 

With  Mr.  Alden  she  sought  frequent  interviews,  always 
renewing  voluntarily  her  promise  to  communicate  to  Eve- 
lyn unreservedly  the  story  of  her  falsehood  and  decep- 
tion. 

"  It  was  vanity,  Mr.  Alden,  in  the  first  instance,  which 
tempted  me  to  disguise  myself,  and  conceal  from  Evelyn 
the  fact  that  I  was  the  wife  of  another.  During  all  the 
time  that  we  had  been  fellow- voyagers,  I  had  scarcely 
noticed  him.  I  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  upon  him  ; 
my  heart  was  occupied  with  grief  for  the  dead,  and  impa- 
tient anticipations  of  meeting  the  living.  Never,  till  that 
fatal  storm,  had  one  thought  of  interest  in  anything  but 
home  and  its  beloved  inmates  visited  my  heart.  But  when, 
in  that  awful  hour,  he  cast  away  his  only  chance  of  escape, 
and  nobly  periled  his  own  life  to  save  or  perish  with  me, 
the  temptations  of  Satan  assailed  me.  I  felt  that  to  know 
me  a  wife  and  a  mother,  would  loosen  my  hold  on  his  ima- 
gination,  and  my  power  would  be  gone.  I  was  silent  only. 
By  no  word  or  sign  did  I  seek  to  deceive  him,  till  the  coil 
of  the  serpent  was  round  my  heart,  and  I  could  not  retrace 
that  first,  fatal,  false  step.  Gratitude  and  dependence  com- 
pleted what  vanity  had  begun,  and  admiration  of  his  noble 
qualities,  veneration  for  his  inflexible  purity,  and  love  for 
his  unobtrusive  virtues,  and  gentle,  affectionate  nature, 
have  strengthened  the  chains  that  bound  me.  You  will 
admit  that  I  was  sorely  tempted  ?" 

"  I  cannot  understand  how   one  who,  from  her  child- 


SEA-SPRAY.  383 

hood  up,  had  so  constantly  on  her  lips  the  petition,  '  Lead 
us  not  into  temptation,'  could  so  deliberately  walk  into  it, 
entirely  of  her  own  volition,  without  any  apparent  leading 
at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Alden,  not  willing  to  leave  her  any 
'  refuge  of  lies,'  nor  any  shelter  of  fallacy  under  which  to 
hide.  "  I  am  sorry  to  seem  severe  or  unkind,  when  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  is  laid  so  heavily  upon  you." 

"  I  cannot  have  a  thought  so  unjust.  I  know  that  you 
seek  to  lead  me  aright,  and-that  you  mean  it  all  in  kind- 
ness, though  your  prescriptions  are  bitter." 

"  Remember,  I  beg,  that  if  I  probe  the  wound  with  harsh 
and  unskilful  hand,  it  is  that  healing  may  follow.  While 
I  would  remind  you  that  '  our  secret  sins  shall  be  set  in 
the  light  of  his  countenance,'  I  would  also  have  you  believe, 
and  be  comforted  in  the  belief,  that  '  He  is  a  strength  to 
the  needy  in  his  distress,  a  refuge  from  the  storm,  a  shadow 
from  the  heat,'  and  that  '  the  Lord  God  will  wipe  away 
tears  from  off  all  faces." 

"  My  secret  sins,  Mr.  Alden,  are  many,  very  many. 
The  one  great  sin,  which,  being  against  human  as  well  as 
divine  laws,  is  open  to  the  judgment  and  condemnation  of 
all,  is  yet  a  small  item  in  the  great  sum-total  of  heart-sins 
to  which  it  has  led.  The  Constant,  daily,  hourly  commis- 
sion of  acted  and  uttered  falsehood  ;  the  deep  deception,  the 
hypocrisy,  the  profanations  of  sacred  things,  the  neglect 
of  duties,  social,  domestic,  and  religious — Oh  !  there  is  an 
endless,  hopeless  array  which  1  shudder  to  contemplate." 

Ada  bent  down  her  head  in  shame  and  sorrow,  and 
Mr.  Alden  replied  with  what  consoling  suggestions  he 
might : 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Evelyn  !  we  all  have  need  to  veil  our  faces, 
and  cry  '  unclean,'  when  we  look  with  the  eye  of  impar- 


384  SEA-SPRAY. 

tial  judgment  into  our  own  hearts.  The  thousand  little  un- 
thought-of  sins,  which  start  up  in  every  heart,  when  sub- 
jected to  searching  self-examination,  furnish  appalling 
matter  for  contrition  and  discipline.  Indeed,  it  is  not  al- 
ways those  whose  acts  are  most  glaringly  open  to  censure, 
who  carry  in  their  bosoms  hearts  the  most  unclean  in  the 
sight  of  God.  I  doubt  not  there  are  many,  who,  walking 
fairly  in  all  outward  seemings,  shunning  all  open  violations 
of  the  decalogue,  and  sinning  in  act  against  no  legal  or 
social  enactments,  yet  carry  into  all  the  relations  of  life 
'  Pride,  vain  glory,  and  hypocrisy ;  envy,  hatred,  malice^ 
and  all  uncharitableness  ;'  who  are  unjust  when  they  judge, 
and  unrighteous  when  they  condemn.  I  cannot  doubt 
that  there  is  many  a  convicted  and  imprisoned  culprit 
who  lifts  up  cleaner  hands,  and  a  purer  heart,  to  his  Maker, 
than  some  who,  walking  abroad  in  the  light  of  a  good  re- 
port, perhaps  sat  in  judgment  upon,  and  condemned  him." 

"  All  this  may  be — I  do  not  question  it  ;  but  it  affords 
me  no  shelter.  By  our  own  doings  we  must  all  be  judged. 
According  to  the  account  which  we  ourselves  shall  render, 
must  our  own  doom  be  sealed.  Oh,  I  do  so  dread  the  blast- 
ing trial  I  have  to  encounter !  That  once  over,  I  think  I 
can  turn  my  thoughts  within,  and  prepare  myself  for  that 
last  dread  reckoning,  scarcely  more  appalling.  You  will 
stand  by  me  yet  a  little  while,  for  I  am  friendless  and  for- 
lorn, a  stranger,  wearying  in  a  far,  strange  land  ?" 

"Assuredly.  You  shall  have  every  aid  and  support 
which  I  can  render  you.  Let  me  urge  you  to  compose 
yourself,  and  not  let  the  anticipation  disturb  you  too  much. 
There  is  no  joy  so  perfect,  and  no  trouble  so  dismaying,  as 
it  seems  when  looked  at  from  a  distance." 

Mr.  Alden  took  his  leave,  and  walked  to  the  Post-office, 


SEA-SPRAY.  385 

whence  he  soon  returned,  bringing  to  Evelyn  a  letter  from 
De  Koven.  It  was  a  hasty  note,  containing  no  messages 
to,  or  inquiries  after,  any  one.  He  merely  said, — 

"  I  have  important  communications  for  your  private  ear, 
and  shall  be  in  Sea-spray  on  the  earliest  possible  day. 
Make  no  comments  to  Mrs.  Evelyn." 

Evelyn  silently  folded  the  note,  and  cast  it  aside. 

It  probably  related  to  some  of  De  Koven's  personal  ar- 
rangements, in  which,  dearly  as  he  loved  him,  he  felt  no  in- 
terest now.  The  strongest  feeling  it  awakened,  was  a  pang 
as  he  thought  of  the  pleasure  his  arrival  would  have  af- 
forded Ernest ;  and  he  turned  again  to  pace  the  room 
which  contained  the  shrouded  form,  by  the  side  of  which 
Allen  was  sobbing,  in  the  unrestrained  overflowings  of  boy- 
hood's sorrow.  The  evening  was  drawing  on  again,  and 
Evelyn  paused  in  his  walk,  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
sweet  remains. 

"  Ah,  my  blessed  boy,  the  night  is  bright  and  beautiful, 
but  you  see  it  not;  the  birds  are  still  singing  blithely  on 
the  branches,  and  all  the  sounds  which  were  such  sweet 
music  to  your  ear,  come  like  a  dirge  on  mine.  The  busi- 
ness of  this  dull  world  will  go  on  just  the  same,  and  few 
will  miss  you  in  its  bustle.  Men  will  plough,  and  sow,  and 
reap,  and  garner.  I  shall  have  to  be  in  and  of  the  lonely 
world,  eat  and  drink,  live  and  move,  amid  scenes  where 
you  are  not,  in  which  my  heart  can  no  more  have 
part ;  for  life  without  you,  my  child,  is  desolate  and  dark." 

Evelyn  turned  away  and  resumed  his  walk;  people 
passed  in  and  out,  arranging  the  room,  and  preparing  for 
the  night,  but  he  did  not  heed. 


CHAPTER  XXHII. 

THE  weary  days,  and  the  wearier  nights,  intervening  be- 
tween death  and  burial,  every  lingering  minute  of  which 
seems  winged  with  a  fresh  barbed  sorrow  to  the  mourning 
heart,  had  passed.  The  last  lacerating  parting  was  over, 
and  the  sweet-toned  bell  was  again  sending  forth  its  call, 
in  a  slow,  solemn  peal,  every  toll  waking  an  answering 
throb  in  Evelyn's  listening  heart.  Mr.  Alden  had  sent  his 
carriage  to  Gosport,  in  kind  consideration  of  Evelyn's  un- 
spoken wish,  to  bring  the  rector,  and  had  gone,  on  a  sum- 
mons from  Ada,  to  converse  with  her  in  her  own  room, 
from  which  she  now  entered  with  him,  bonneted  and  veiled 
to  follow  her  boy  to  his  grave.  Evelyn  rose  as  she  entered, 
and  advanced  to  meet  her  with  anxious  solicitude. 

"  Ada,  my  dear  wife,  you  don't  think  of  going  out  ?" 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  Walter,  let  me  go  once  more,  in 
the  light  of  the  blessed  day." 

"  But  you  are  not  equal  to  the  exertion — let  me  order  a 
carriage." 

"  No,  let  me  walk,  Walter,  let  me  walk  ;  our  blessed  Sa- 
viour went  wearily  bearing  his  cross  !  Let  me  walk,  bear- 
ing my  heavy  load  of  shame,  and  misery,  and  sin.  Oh,  let 
me  follow  our  child  to  his  grave,  going  forth  by  your  side, 
once  more  in  the  light  of  your  love ;  and  then  I  will  corne 


SEA-SPRAY.  387 

home  and  cast  from  my  soul  this  galling  oppression  of  sin, 
which  has  so  long  been  fretting  away  my  life.  Once  more, 
Walter,  let  me  stand  by  your  side  and  look  on  the  graves 
of  our  children  ;  and  then  I  will  come  home  and  tell  you 
all  my  grief  and  my  guilt,  and  look  on  your  face  no  more." 

Evelyn  turned  an  anxious  inquiring  glance  upon  Mr. 
Alden,  who  could  scarcely  command  himself  to  meet  that 
look  of  anguish,  as  he  hurriedly  asked  : 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  utterly  unmanned !  Does  her 
reason  waver,  or  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  strange  and 
terrible  language  ?" 

"  You  had  better  indulge  her,"  replied  the  pastor,  answer- 
ing the  first  question,  and  evading  all  notice  of  the  others. 
"  Her  heart  is  set  upon  going  to  the  grave.  She  is  frail, 
perhaps  hardly  equal  to  it,  but  she  will  not  bear  opposi- 
tion." 

Evelyn  looked  searchingly  in  his  face  as  he  spoke,  but 
turned  away  with  a  troubled,  disturbed  expression,  and 
asked  no  questions. 

"  Let  him  think  she  is  insane  till  this  is  over:  any  thing  but 
the  truth  just  now,  poor  fellow !"  thought  the  clergyman. 

The  hour  appointed  for  the  funeral  had  fully  arrived. 
The  bell  was  still  tolling,  and  the  people  were  assembling 
and  filling  the  rooms.  But  the  rector  from  Gosport  did 
not  arrive.  Time  passed,  and  the  delay  was  beginning  to 
be  painfully  embarassing.  At  length  a  carriage  was  heard 
rapidly  approaching  the  house,  and  Col.  Hesselten  called 
Mr.  Alden  to  the  door.  The  rector  was  unfortunately 
absent  from  Gosport,  and  the  messenger  had  brought  a 
clergyman  who  had  just  arrived  from  Boston,  and  who, 
accidentally  hearing  of  the  disappointment,  had  kindly 
volunteered  to  come,  leaving  the  party  of  friends  with 


388  SEA-SPRAT. 

whom  he  was  traveling  to  follow  in  the  evening's  stage. 
Under  the  circumstances,  the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Alden  con- 
cluded it  not  advisable  to  apprise  Evelyn  of  the  change, 
briefly  explaining  to  the  stranger  Ada's  precarious  health 
and  peculiarly  nervous  and  sensitive  temperament. 

The  clergyman  thus  unceremoniously  thrown  among  a 
strange  people,  was  a  man  of  prepossessing  personal  appear- 
ance and  air,  with  a  high,  broad  brow,  on  which  were 
legibly  written  characters  of  sorrow  and  care.  It  was 
a  mild,  calm  countenance,  inspiring  confidence,  and  ex- 
pressive of  a  kindly  affectionate  nature,  but  decided,  firm, 
and  authoritative  in  its  glance.  He  stepped  softly  into 
the  room,  and  laying  his;  hand  on  the  coffin,  read  the 
plate,  "  Ernest  Atherton  Evelyn,"  with  a  perceptible  start, 
and  an  eager  inquiring  glance  around  the  assemblage. 
But  no  familiar  face  met  his  gaze.  No  look  of  recognition 
spoke  with  answering  glance  to  his  eyes ;  they  were  all 
strangers.  The  young  men  who  had  been  chosen  as  bearers, 
stepped  in  and  lifted  the  coffin.  Evelyn  rose,  with  Ada, 
closely  veiled,  leaning  on  his  arm  ;  they  were  ready  to  move  '» 
and  the  deep-toned,  solemn  voice  of  the  stranger  rose  in 
the  thrilling  words  — 

*'I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 

It  was  enough  ;  with  a  long,  piercing  cry  which  rung 
through  the  house,  Ada  threw  up  her  veil  and  sprang 
forward.  "Ernest,  oh  Ernest,"  broke  from  her  pale  lips, 
and  she  knew  no  more. 

The  pallor  of  death  spread  over  the  face  of  the  stranger, 
and  a  mighty  tremor  shook  his  frame  ;  but  it  passed  quickly; 
he  had  mastered  his  feelings,  and  stood  deadly  pale,  but 
silent  and  calm,  awaiting  the  result. 

"  We  had  better  move  on,"  said  Mr.  Alden,  addressing 
himself  to  Evelyn. 


SEA-SPRAY.  389 

"It  will  be  a  cruel  disappointment  to  take  her  child  away 
while  she  is  in  this  state.  I  cannot  do  it,"  responded  Evelyn, 
lingering  and  looking  tenderly  back  upon  Ada,  stretched 
in  a  state  of  insensibility,  and  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
ladies,  removing  garments  and  applying  restoratives. 

"It  is  better  far  as  it  is ;  she  will  be  in  no  state  to  go  out 
when  she  recovers.  It  is  very  important  to  get  these  people 
out  of  the  house  before  she  is  restored  to  consciousness." 

Evelyn  hesitated.  How  could  he  deprive  her  of  the 
melancholy  gratification  of  following  her  child  to  the  grave  ? 
it  would  be  so  inconsiderate  and  cruel.  He  turned  back  and 
bent  over  her,  and  hesitated. 

"  Allow  me  to  act  for  you  here.  I  have  reasons  which  I 
will  render  afterwards.  Move  on,"  said  the  pastor,  decidedly, 
turning  to  the  young  bearers.  Evelyn  said  no  more,  but 
taking  Allen  by  the  hand,  followed  the  coffin,  erect  and 
stately  in  his  sorrow. 

The  voice  of  the  officiating  clergyman  was  deep  and 
powerful,  but  at  times  tremulous  and  broken  ;  and  a  strange 
agitation  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the  friends  more  im- 
mediately surrounding  Evelyn. 

The  last  sad  tribute  was  rendered,  and  Ernest  too  slept 
in  his  little  grave  :  with  the  dash  of  the  restless  billow,  to 
which  he  had  so  loved  to  listen,  forever  echoing  over  it,  the 
sweet  summer  dews  keeping  fresh  and  bright  its  verdure, 
and  the  solemn  stars  holding  silent  watch  above  it. 

The  silent  multitude  drew  back  and  in  scattering  groups 
departed,  while  Evelyn  remained  standing  with  folded  arms 
beside  the  graves  of  his  children,  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  and  unheeding  the  people  or  scenes  around  him, 
forgetting  everything  but  the  little  sleepers  in  the  graves 
on  which  he  gazed.  Mr.  Alden  and  Col.  Hesselten  stood 


390  SEA-SPRAY. 

at  a  distance,  conversing  earnestly,  and  lingering  with  a 
feeling  that  their  presence  might  be  important.  The  stranger 
clergyman  advanced,  and  laying  his  arm  on  Evelyn's, 
aroused  him  from  his  deep  abstraction,  saying  as  he  did  so  : 

"Excuse  me,  I  pray  you:  but  I  find  something  so  be- 
wildering here.  That  name,"  pointing  to  the  tablet  at 
Edith's  grave,  "  and  the  name  on  the  coffin  plate,  belong  to 
me  and  mine.  How  is  it  that  I  find  them  here,  in  a 
strange  place  and  among  an  unknown  people?" 

"It  is  nothing  strange,"  replied  Evelyn,  quietly,  "that 
my  children  should  bear  these  names,  though  it  was  a 
strange  direction  of  Providence  which  led  me  to  lay  them 
here.  My  son,  whom  you  have  just  buried,  bore  the  name 
of  his  mother's  father;  his  sister,  some  few  years  older, 
and  a  few  months  since  laid  in  the  grave  at  which  you 
stand,  bore  the  name  of  her  mother's  only  sister." 

"  And  what  name,  allow  me  to  ask,"  said  the  stranger, 
his  whole  frame  quivering  with  eager  emotion  —  "  what 
name  did  their  mother  bear?" 

Evelyn  replied  with  the  calmness  of  perfect  truth, 
unconscious  of  evil,  "  Mrs.  Evelyn's  name  was  Ada 
Atherlon." 

"  God  of  my  fathers  P'  exclaimed  the  stranger,  staggering 
back ;  "  that  voice,  then,  was  no  mockery  of  my  imagina- 
tion ?  Oh,  has  the  sea  rendered  up  its  dead  to  haunt  me  ? 
Oh,  man  of  sin  !  when  ?  where  ?  how  ?  did  you  beguile 
from  herself,  her  husband  and  her  God,  the  wife  of  my 
bosom  and  the  mother  of  my  child  ?" 

"  This  is  strange  language  you  address  to  me,  the  child- 
less father,  by  the  new-made  grave  of  his  only  son.  I 
know  not  of  what  crime  you  accuse  me.  You  must  be  the 
dupe  of  some  insane  delusion.  What  would  you  with 
me?" 


SEA-SPRAY.  891 

"  What  would  I  with  you  ?  Smooth,  smiling  seducer. 
I  am  Ernest  Atherton  !" 

Evelyn  extended  his  hand  with  a  faint,  sad  smile. 

"  That  name  sanctifies  its  bearer.  I  greet  you  as  Ada's 
cousin  ;  though  my  greeting  must,  of  necessity,  be  a  sad 
one." 

Atherton  recoiled  with  a  look  of  loathing  and  horror. 

"  What — here  !  by  this  new-made  grave,  have  you  the 
heartless  audacity  to  extend  your  hand  to  me  ? — to  me,  the 
insulted,  despoiled  husband  of  the  guilty  lost  thing  you 
have  betrayed  to  degradation  and  ruin  ?" 

Mr.  Alden  advanced,  and  taking  Evelyn  by  the  arm, 
sought  to  draw  him  away ;  but  he  resisted,  and  turning 
again  to  Atherton,  spoke  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  like 
one  bewildered  by  a  stunning  blow  : 

"  Did  I  hear  aright,  or  has  sorrow  maddened  me  ?  Speak 
again.  Say  it  was  not  so — you  did  not  mean  it.  Say  it 
is  false,  foul  calumny,  invented  to  torture  me.  Insulting 
mocker  1  Deny  it — deny  it. 

"Come — come,  Evelyn,  my  friend,  compose  yourself, 
and  let  us  go  home,"  said  Alden,  with  earnest  endeavors  to 
draw  him  away. 

"  Not  yet — not  yet.  I  could  not  face  my  innocent  Ada 
with  this  imputation  on  her  purity,  uttered  here  over  the 
graves  of  her  children,  unretracted.  Wait,  wait,  and  hear 
him  recall  it — for  he  shall  recall  it,"  said  Evelyn,  wildly. 

"  Alas  !  my  poor  deceived,  suffering  friend,  he  cannot 
recall  what  you  must  learn  to  bear.  Unhappily  the  gentle- 
man's words  are  true.  T  have  been  some  days  in  Mrs. 
Evelyn's  confidence." 

Evelyn  reeled  away;  then  leaned  heavily  upon  Mr 
Alden's  shoulder,  whispering  hoarsely : 


392  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Go  on — I  see  it  all  now.  Everything  strange  is  made 
plain — fool — dupe  that  I  have  been.  Say  on." 

"  I  have  little  more  to  say.  She  told  me  the  same  story 
precisely  as  your  own,  with  regard  to  your  meeting  and 
first  acquaintance  ;  admitting  that  she  had  been  several 
years  the  wife  of  her  cousin  ;  that  she  concealed  the  fact 
from  you,  and  that  you  married  her  without  a  suspicion 
of  wrong.  She  has  pledged  herself  to  make  to  you  a  full 
confession  of  all  her  temptations  and  trials,  as  soon  as 
this  solemn  day  was  over.  You  don't  doubt  that  she  has 
suffered — you  have  witnessed  and  wondered  at  it.  Her 
health  has  failed  under  it,  and  her  end  is  near.  I  do 
entreat  you  both,  gentlemen,  be  merciful,  as  you  would 
yourselves  find  mercy  in  your  utter  need." 

Atherton  had  stood  in  silent  attention,  perfectly  calm, 
and  moving  not  a  muscle.  The  storm  which  had  shaken 
him  so  powerfully  was  quelled,  and  he  stood  erect,  stern 
and  passionless,  looking  with  a  keen,  searching  gaze  coldly 
on  the  withering  features  of  Evelyn,  who,  stung  and  tor- 
tured in  every  nerve,  was  boiling  and  quivering  with 
wrath. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  addressing  Atherton — "  come,  you 
shall  see  me  confront  this  woman,  who  has  so  long  trifled 
with  honor  and  truth.  You  shall  hear  her  acquit  me  of 
all  wilful  participation  in  this  disgraceful  and  damnable 
deed." 

"  No ;  I  have  no  wish  to  hear  more  of  this  marvellous 
tale,  in  which  a  noble,  high-minded  seducer  seeks  to  re- 
deem his  own  honor  by  casting  all  the  obloquy  on  his 
miserable,  misguided  victim.  No  doubt  it  is  a  brave 
scheme,  but  I  do  not  care  to  play  any  part  in  it." 

Atherton  turned  away  with  a  contemptuous  laugh,  but 
Mr.  Alden  arrested  his  steps. 


SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  your  attention  one  moment.  This  is 
an  extremely  delicate  business  for  a  stranger  to  meddle 
with,  but  permit  me  to  say,  I  have  some  knowledge  of  the 
circumstances  on  which  to  found  my  belief.  Let  me 
assure  you,  I  know  positively  that,  till  he  gained  it  from 
yourself,  Evelyn  has  never  had  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
aught  wrong  in  his  union  with  the  woman  he  believed  to 
be  his  wife.  Sir,  I  am  a  minister,  serving  at  the  altar  of  the 
church  of  God.  I  hold  my  ordination  vows  as  sacred 
as  you,  I  doubt  not,  hold  your  own.  Will  you  not  take 
my  assurance,  when  I  say  I  know  that  Walter  Evelyn  is  a 
pure,  high-minded  gentleman,  a  sincere,  devout,  consistent, 
ardent  Christian.  I  know  this ;  need  I  say  more  ?" 

"No  more,  to  convince  me  that  you  believe  what  you 
say.  You  may  be  imposed  upon  and  deceived." 

"  Trust  me,  I  am  not ;  at  least  come  home  with  him,  or 
with  me;  this  is  no  place  for  discussions  like  this." 

"  You  are  right  :  I  will  go  where  you  please ;  with  him, 
if  you  counsel  it ;  I  do  not  wish  to  be  unjust." 

Mr.  Alden  took  Evelyn  kindly  by  the  arm,  and  they 
walked  home  together  in  silence.  They  found  Ada  in  the 
room  where  they  had  left  her,  awaiting  them,  tearless, 
mute  and  motionless.  Evelyn  advanced,  calm  from  the 
very  concentration  of  rage,  and  stood  before  her,  pointing 
to  Atherton  as  he  asked  : 

"  Ada,  do  you  know  that  man  ?  Do  you  know  who  it  is 
that  God  has  sent  in  awful  retribution  to  bury  my  child  ?" 

"  Say  our  child,  Walter,  say  our  child ;  take  not  from 
me  the  only  sweet  thought  that  is  left  to  me,  the  blessed 
memory  of  our  child.  He  was  my  child,  Walter." 

"  Therefore  do  I  thank  God  that  the  sheltering  shadow 
of  the  grave  lies  between  him  and  the  withering  breath  of 

this  lasting  disgrace." 

17 


394:  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Have  mercy,  Walter,  though  I  deserve  it  not." 
"  Oh,  my  sweet  innocent  children  !  It  is  terrible  to  be 
constrained  to  thank  God  that  the  cold  damp  earth  was 
heaped  on  their  beautiful  brows,  ere  they  were  stained  and 
seared  with  the  damning  brand  of  illegitimate  birth.  Oh, 
woman,  woman,  weak  and  wicked  in  your  deluding  loveli- 
ness, how  little  did  I  dream  when  I  held  you  in  my  despair- 
ing grasp  on  the  lonely  sea,  and  vowed  in  my  own  soul, 
God  permitting  us,  to  care  for,  cherish,  shield  and  love 
you,  that  I  was  vowing  destruction  to  both  our  souls,  and 
pledging  myself  to  a  life  of  damning,  adulterous  sin." 

"  Curse  me  not,  Walter.  Set  not  you  heel  too  heavily 
on  the  crushed  worm,  that  only  prays,  in  its  writhing 
wretchedness,  to  crawl  to  your  feet  and  die." 

"  Answer  me  now,  Ada,  do  you  know  this  man  ?" 
Ada  cowered  down,  covering  her  face  and  trembling,  as 
Evelyn  drew  Atherton  forward.  Atherton  spoke,  and  his 
words  were  low,  musical,  and  sad.  "Ada,  my  poor  mis- 
guided Ada,  you  need  not  fear  me.  I  find  you,  Oh,  how 
changed  from  the  fair  sunny  thing  for  whom  these  fifteen 
long  years  I  have  mourned  in  widowed  loneliness ;  for 
whom,  Oh,  how  many  long  hopeless  months  my  prayers 
went  up  unceasingly ;  for  whose  sake,  in  my  frantic  ago- 
ny, I  cursed  the  winds  and  the  waves ;  and  now,  my  un- 
holy repinings  have  come  back  with  fearful  recoil.  I  have 
found  you,  and  how  ?  a  blighted  wreck  ;  a  childless  mother  ; 
a  disowned  wife.  Still,  Ada,  Oh  Ada,  companion  of  my 
happy  boyhood,  friend  and  wife  of  my  early  manhood, 
child  of  my  more  than  father,  mother  of  my  fair  young 
child,  T  have  no  resentments  for  you  ;  I  am  still  your  cousin, 
as  in  your  childish  years.  Speak,  Ada  :  look  up  and  say 
you  will  not  fear  me." 


SEA-SPRAY. 

"Oh,  Ernest,  ever  kind  and  noble,  I  can  only  thank 
you  that  you  do  not  curse  me.  Grant  me  one  more  boon. 
Speak  no  harsh  words,  harbor  no  unkind  thoughts  of  him 
whom  I  have  dragged  down  with  me  in  this  great  ruin. 
He  has  no  share  in  anything  but  the  sorrow." 

A  shadow  for  an  instant  flitted  over  the  face  of  Ather- 
ton.  Her  first  word  was  a  plea  for  him  for  whose  sake  he 
had  been  forsaken !  but  he  put  away  the  evil  thought.  His 
whole  life  had  been  a  struggle  to  crucify  self,  and  he  had 
laid  all  selfish  and  earthly  emotions  with  a  devoted  zeal  on 
the  altar  of  duty.  He  was  a  subdued,  devoted  Christian,  a 
faithful,  active  laborer  in  his  holy  calling ;  and  while  he 
preached,  labored  and  prayed  to  overcome  sin  in  others, 
he  had  watched,  wept,  prayed  and  wrestled  to  subdue 
himself.  Evelyn  was  walking  about  in  almost  a  fury  of 
passion;  mortified,  deceived,  destroyed,  disgraced,  every- 
thing else  was  lost  in  the  sting  of  wounded  pride,  and  soiled, 
insulted  honor.  He  passed  out  and  paced  furiously  up  and 
down  in  another  room.  After  a  long  conversation  with 
Ada,  aided  by  Mr.  Alden,  Atherton  sought  Evelyn,  and 
entered  with  perfect  composure  into  conversation  with 
him,  speaking  mildly  as  he  said,  "  I  am  satisfied  that  I  have 
done  you  injustice.  I  wish  to  retratt  and  apologize  for 
my  taunting  remarks.  I  was  ungentlemanly ;  under  the 
peculiar  circumstances,  ungenerous ;  I  acknowledge  and 
regret  it.  I  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  my  first  impression 
was  not  a  strange  one.  I  am  satisfied  that  I  was  wrong ; 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  cannot  say  more." 

"  Your  supposition  was  the  only  probable  or  natural  one  ; 
it  was  to  be  expected.  You  owe  me  no  apologies  or  expla- 
nations," said  Evelyn,  haughtily.  "  I  expect  to  stand  before 
the  world  as  a  precious  scoundrel ;  a  bold,  unprincipled, 
seducing,  adulterous  villain.  I  have  my  choice  of  delecta- 


396  SEA-SPRAY. 

ble  positions  —  which  would  you  advise  ?  I  can  pass  for  a 
blind,  besotted  fool,  the  doting,  unwilling  dupe  of  a  weak, 
wilful  woman,  squandering  the  wealth  of  the  heart's  holiest 
affections,  and  wasting  the  pride  and  the  prime  of  manhood 
at  the  feet  of  another  man's  wife." 

"1  acknowledge  it,  you  are  placed  in  a  painful  position, 
even  more  galling  than  mine  ! — unconsciously  and  invol- 
untarily made  to  appear  as  an  accessory  in  a  disgraceful 
transaction.  The  consciousness  of  innocence  must  sus- 
tain you." 

"  Consciousness  of  innocence ! — a  pretty  phrase  for  a 
sentimental  girl.  It  is  hardly  balm  for  the  chafing  spirit 
and  wounded  honor  of  a  proud,  irritated,  incensed  man. 
I  have  been  for  her  sake  a  homeless,  aimless,  wandering 
Cain  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  a  useless,  disfranchised 
citizen,  without  name,  or  station,  or  position,  or  influence. 
It  is  not  so  with  you.  You  have  home  and  friends,  a  high 
and  holy  calling,  an  honored  position,  an  extended  and 
beneficial  influence,  untarnished  reputation  and  unques- 
tioned honor.  With  me  all  the  promise  and  purpose  of 
life  are  defeated.  I  am  friendless,  homeless,  childless,  a  de- 
solate, disgraced,  heart-broken  man." 

"  You  have  drawn  a  sad  picture.  I  will  not  attempt  to 
match  it,"  said  Atherton,  in  low,  mournful  tones,  "  or  I  might 
tell  of  a  desolated  home  and  a  widowed  heart ;  for  surely 
I  need  not  tell  you,  the  wife  so  long  lamented  as  dead,  whose 
memory  was  so  faithfully  cherished  and  mourned,  was  ten- 
derly beloved  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  loved  her !  doubtless  you  loved  her !"  said 
Evelyn,  bitterly,  "  with  the  cool,  cautious,  prudent  love, 
born  of  a  prosperous  wooing." 

"  I  gave  to  her,  unreservedly,  all  the  wealth  of  as  pure 


SEA-SPRAY.  397 

and  unselfish  a  love  as  ever  was  garnered  in  a  true  and 
trusting  heart,"  replied  Atherton,  calmly. 

"Granted,"  said  Evelyn,  "it  had  time  to  be  planted  and 
take  root,  sunned  in  the  fostering  beams  of  familiar  ac- 
quaintanceship, to  bud  and  blossom,  mature  and  ripen, 
mid  the  quiet  scenes,  and  smiling,  happy  homes  of  green 
England.  But  was  it  less  selfish,  think  you,  than  mine, 
when  I  took  her,  a  helpless,  friendless,  nameless  stranger, 
thrown  like  a  forsaken  and  worthless  weed  on  the  stormy 
and  pitiless  sea,  in  unquestioning  love  to  my  bosom  ?" 

"  We  are  both,"  said  Atherton,  putting  down  his  rising 
wrath  with  the  strong  effort  of  a  determined  but  disciplined 
will — "  we  are  both  blighted  and  betrayed  men,  disappointed 
and  grieved  in  our  dearest  earthly  affections.  Why  should 
we  quarrel  ?" 

"  Disappointed  and  grieved  !"  retorted  Evelyn,  his  proud 
lip  curling  with  indignant  scorn  ;  "  and  what  is  disappoint- 
ment or  grief,  to  the  sting  of  the  damning  disgrace  and 
shame  into  which  the  soft  temptress  beguiled  me." 

"Let  us  cease  this  unprofitable  discussion,"  said  Ather- 
ton, mildly.  "  It  is  a  wretchedly  harrowing  position  in 
which  we  find  ourselves  ;  but  let  us  think  of  others.  How 
can  1  break  this  astounding  intelligence  to  my  daughter  ? 
How  can  she  act  ?  Or  how  can  I  guide  her?  Can  we  in 
aught  act  in  concert  for  the  comfort  and  peace  of  her  who 
is  now  a  mutual  care  ?" 

"  You  surely  cannot  expect  me  to  take  back  to  my  heart 
with  confiding,  caressing  affection,  the  unprincipled  thing, 
who,  for  so  many  years,  has  nestled  herself  a  living  lie  in 
my  bosom  ?" 

"  I  have  scarcely  looked  beyond  the  present  and  its 
pressing  exigencies.  I  have  taken  no  counsel  with  myself, 


398  SEA-SPEAY; 

or  thought  of  expediency  or  proprieties.  Something  is 
due  to  those  among  whom  we  are  placed — you  know  them. 
Seek  cool  dispassionate  advice  and  counsel  for  yourself 
and  her." 

"  Seek  cool  counsel !  Who  by  counsel  can  undo  the 
accursed  past  ?  Who  make  less  debasing  the  scathing 
infamy  of  the  humiliating  present  ?  Who  redeem  from 
contempt  and  jeering  scorn  the  dark,  dreary  future  ?  Who 
shall  counsel  a  degraded  man  with  a  raging  hell  in  his 
heart  ?  Away  with  your  smooth  spoken  words,  and  un- 
meaning mockeries  of  consolation  and  counsel,  and  preach 
peace  to  the  whirlwind." 

Evelyn  went  out  and  away,  afar  off  into  the  wide 
fields,  in  the  coolness  and  stillness  of  the  gathering  twilight, 
reckless  and  wretched,  lost  to  himself  and  all  the  hal- 
lowing influences  which  had  hitherto  governed  and  guided 
him.  But  he  could  not  walk  off  the  madness  within  him. 
He  could  not  flee  from  the  mocking  devils  that  goaded  him, 
wounded  worldly  pride,  dread  of  men's  scorn,  the  hissing 
serpent  shame,  the  deriding  laugh,  the  pointing  finger,  the 
withering  sarcasm  of  that  most  heartless  of  all  Satan's  piti- 
less brood,  the  imp  ridicule.  How  could  he  brave  or 
brook  them  ?  What  he,  the  high-hearted  and  noble,  the 
pure  in  purpose  and  in  practice,  the  proud  in  principle  ? 
He,  to  whom  all  chivalrous  niceties  were  idols  ?  To  whom 
gentlemanly  honor  was  a  shrined  divinity  ?  He,  to  be  a 
mark  for  derision?  He,  to  be  trampled  and  trod  upon? 
His  name  in  men's  mouths  a  bye- word  and  a  mockery  ? 
He  turned  again  in  his  stormy  wrath,  striding  furiously  on, 
bounding  over,  and  spurning  obstacles,  wending  he  recked 
not  whither,  till  the  gleaming  tablets  of  the  grave-yard, 
with  the  peaceful  moonlight  falling  in  silvery  floods  upon 


SEA-SPKAY.  399 

and  around  them,  arrested  his  eye.  He  paused — a  voice 
was  speaking  in  his  heart,  at  which  all  mocking  sounds 
were  silenced.  A  soft  sweet  image  had  risen  on  his 
thoughts,  before  which  the  foul  fiends  that  had  maddened 
him  veiled  their  faces  and  fled. 

With  the  hallowing  remembrance  of  Edith  and  Ernest, 
came  softening  and  melting  emotions ;  he  threw  his 
arms  over  the  graves,  as  if  he  would  reach  and  regain 
the  inmates. 

"  Not  here,  oh !  not  here,  can  I  bring  such  unholy  emo- 
tions !  Not  over  your  graves,  my  loved  little  ones,  can 
I  bend  in  this  warfare  of  wicked  and  worldly  resentings ! 
Not  here,  my  blessed  Ernest,  by  this  fresh-turned  sod,  can 
I  come  with  wrath  and  wailing  in  my  heart,  against  the 
mother  you  so  much  loved !" 

Evelyn  sat  down,  subdued  and  sobered  from  the  first 
mad  outbreak  of  passion,  beside  the  graves  of  his  children, 
and  held  long,  sad  communings  with  himself.  How  could 
he  look,  with  the  heart's  yearning  gaze,  through  earth  and 
sod,  upon  that  sweet,  upturned  face,  and  not  listen  to  its 
pale  pleadings  for  the  sad,  crushed  mother,  standing  ever 
in  that  young  gentle  heart,  an  image  of  purity  and  blessed- 
ness, glowing  in  the  reflected  light  of  his  undoubting, 
childlike  love  ?  His  heart  turned  towards  Ada  with  re- 
lenting softness — Ada,  deserted  in  this  first  terrible  hour 
of  her  childless  loneliness — alone  and  desolate  in  her  be- 
reavement. He  would  return  to  her.  He  would  take  her 
to  his  heart,  and  weep  over  and  comfort  her.  He  would 
recall  his  murderous,  bitter  words.  He  would  forgive  the 
wrong  and  forget  the  shame.  It  was  for  him,  who  mourned 
so  deeply,  to  sustain  the  mourning  mother  of  his  children. 
For  their  sakes,  he  would  remember  only  her  great  sorrow 


400  SEA-SPRAY. 

and  their  great  love.  He  rose  in  the  impulse  of  his  new 
born  purpose.  But  stay — was  this  right  ?  Was  he  sure 
of  himself  ?  or  had  he  mistaken  his  own  motives  ?  Was 
he  urged  by  the  promptings  of  that  pure  and  holy  charity 
which  beareth,  relieveth,  hopeth,  and  endureth  all  things  ? 
or  was  he  in  sinful  self-indulgence  listening  to  the 
pleadings  of  a  guilty,  forbidden  love  ?  He  sunk  back  ap- 
palled. What  was  Ada  to  him? — Ada,  the  long  since 
wedded  wife  of  another  ? — Ada,  the  recognized,  the  ex- 
posed, the  claimed  ?  What  was  she  to  him,  or  he  to  her, 
any  more,  now,  henceforth  and  forever?  Oh,  madness  and 
misery,  from  which  there  was  no  outlet  but  death !  He 
could  not  hate  her,  and  he  must  not  love.  He  turned 
again  in  his  despair  to  embrace  the  grave.  "  Oh,  my 
children,  would  death  but  gather  me  to  this  safe  haven  be- 
side you  !  Would  God  but  call  me  to  my  rest  away  from 
the  evil  to  come  !" 

A  shadow  darkened  the  moonlight  on  the  grave,  and  a 
hand  was  laid  on  Evelyn's  uncovered  head.  He  looked 
up,  Clarence  De  Koven  stood  before  him.  He  rose, 
and  Clarence  passed  his  arm  lovingly  around  him,  with 
words  of  soothing : 

"  Oh,  Evelyn,  dear  Evelyn,  I  would  have  periled  life  to 
have  spared  you  this." 

The  deep  fountains  of  sorrow  were  unsealed  at  this  un- 
expected and  affectionate  greeting;  Evelyn  dropped  his 
head  on  the  shoulder  of  his  long-loved  friend,  and  wept 
in  uncontrollable  and  utter  self-abandonment.  What  to 
him  now  was  dignity  of  deportment,  or  self-sustaining 
pride  of  manhood,  that  he  should  not  weep  and  make  moan 
at  the  graves  of  his  household,  on  the  breast  of  him  who 
had  known  and  loved  them  ?  His  first  thought  was  of 
Ernest,  and  his  first  words  uttered  it : 


SEA-SPBAY.  401 

"  Oh,  Clarence,  he  did  so  love  you,  and  long  to  see  you 
once  more." 

"  I  should  have  been  with  you  long  ago,  but  that  anxiety 
to  keep  the  clew  I  was  unwinding,  and  to  avert,  as  long  as 
possible,  the  blow  I  saw  impending,  has  chained  my  steps 
to  others.  But  come  home,  come  home,  Evelyn  ;  you  are 
wet  with  this  chill  night  dew.  Come  with  me  at  once, 
and  get  off  these  damp  garments." 

"  Home,  home  !  Oh,  Clarence,  what  and  where  is  my 
home  ?" 

"  We  will  make  for  ourselves  a  home,  dear  Evelyn  ; 
the  world  is  spread  wide  before  us.  Come  with  me  now — 
come." 

"  My  world  is  here,  Clarence,  narrowed  to  two  little 
graves !  I  can  seek  no  home  but  this."  Evelyn  sat 
down,  and  folding  his  arms,  leaned  heavily  back  against 
the  slab  at  Edith's  grave.  Another  figure  came  out  from 
the  shadow  of  a  willow  tree  which  loving  hands  had 
planted,  and  advanced.  It  was  Atherton.  Evelyn  rose 
with  a  repelling  gesture,  planting  himself  before  the 
graves : 

"  Not  here ! — not  here  should  we  two  meet.  Stand 
back." 

"  And  why  not  here  ?"  asked  Atherton,  calmly.  "  Why 
not  here,  if  with  a  peaceful  purpose  ?  I  knew  you  would 
seek  counsel  of  the  grave,  and  hither  to  its  hallowed 
presence  I  have  followed  you.  Here,  beside  your  bu- 
ried dead,  I  lay  open  my  heart  before  God,  while  I  say 
to  you,  because  you  cannot  read  it,  it  harbors  not  one 
resentful  or  unkind  feeling  towards  you.  Why,  because 
we  are  placed  in  strange,  unprecedented  positions  in  rela- 
tion to  each  other,  why  can  we  not  be  at  peace  ?  Let  the 

17* 


402  SEA-SPEAY. 

world  laugh,  let  it  censure  if  it  will,  what  is  the  world  to 
us  ?  My  business  is  with  the  world  which  lies  beyond 
this,  to  school  and  discipline,  ere  I  dare  to  teach  others, 
my  own  wayward  heart.  I  have  long  since  learned  to 
disregard  the  censures  or  the  applause  of  this  world  in 
matters  which  concern  it  not.  Our  business  now  is  to 
forget  ourselves.  We  are  men,  and  we  can  bear  the 
rough  passages  of  life.  But  for  this  frail,  suffering,  dying 
penitent  who  stands  alone  and  friendless  between  us,  we 
have  need  to  judge  and  act  with  delicate  care  and  kind- 
ness. Come,  I  extend  to  you  my  hand.  Let  us  go  home 
like  brothers  and  like  Christians." 

Evelyn  took  the  hand  so  frankly  proffered,  and  each 
taking  an  arm  of  De  Koven,  they  walked  back  whence 
they  came. 

They  found  Col.  Hesselten  and  Mr.  Alden  sitting  in  the 
dining-room.  Evelyn  came  forward,  in  strong  emotion, 
to  speak  to  them,  turning  first  to  the  Colonel : 

"  I  fear,  dear  kind  friend,  I  am  taking  unwarrantable 
liberties  with  your  house,  making  it  the  scene  of  so  much 
that  is  unpleasant  and  needing  apology  ;  believe  me,  it  was 
unforeseen  and  unintentional." 

"  You  need  give  yourself  no  trouble  on  my  account.  I 
understand  it  all.  Make  yourself  at  home,  and  as  happy 
as  you  can.  You  are  heartily  welcome  to  a  share  of  my 
home,  as  long  as  you  desire  or  need  it." 

"  May  I  ask,  what  in  this  strange  and  painful  emergency 
would  you  counsel  me  to  do  ?" 

"  Do  nothing  ;  but  let  things  take  their  course,  and  take 
them  quietly.  You  two  are  not  the  sufferers.  You  can- 
not do  otherwise  than  deal  kindly  with  that  sick,  suffering 
woman.  Her  days  will  not  be  long.  She  has  been  very 


SEA-SPRAY.  403 

evidently  declining  during  the  whole  time  that  she  has  been 
here.  Nothing  but  the  feverish  stimulus  of  constant  men- 
tal excitement  has  sustained  her  so  long.  She  is  very 
prostrate  now,  and  she  must  be  subjected  to  no  more  agita- 
tion or  trials.  I  am  master  here,  remember,"  he  continued, 
pleasantly.  "  She  is  under  my  protection.  I  claim  the 
authority  to  forbid  any  interference  with  my  guest." 

"  Come,  Evelyn,"  said  De  Koven,  "  get  you  to  the  fire  ; 
you  are  very  damp.  I  will  see  you  again  presently." 

Atherton  and  De  Koven  departed ;  the  one  to  join  his 
daughter  at  the  Hotel,  the  other  to  seek  his  old  quarters 
with  his  friend  Hardy. 

Evelyn  took  his  seat  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and  sought  to 
forget  his  new  and  stunning  trouble  in  low,  mournful,  tear- 
ful talk  with  Allen,  of  Ernest,  and  their  by-gone  days  of 
happiness  in  his  company. 

The  couch  on  which  Ernest  had  breathed  out  his  little 
life  was  restored  to  the  parlor,  where  he  had  occupied  it, 
and  Ada  lay  upon  it  in  a  state  of  dreamy  prostration. 
Dr.  Hesselten,  with  his  wife  and  Mrs.  Alden,  were  silently 
watching  beside  her. 

Dury  toddled  about  getting  tea,  grieving  for  Ernest  with 
an  honest,  silent  sorrow,  and  wondering  what  was  the 
meaning  of  all  the  "  strange  doings,"  counting  up  in  her 
thoughts,  how  often  she  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  mourn- 
ing dove,  and  remembering  with  a  shudder  how  the  cows 
in  Melton's  barn-yard  had  mourned  and  lowed  all  the  night 
before,  a  sure  premonition  of  impending  death. 

"  No  cup  for  poor  lady  to-night.  •  Well,  I  knowed  cow 
didn't  make  that  ere  cry  all  night  for  nothin'.  Lady  shell 
go  next,  and  Dury'll  have  to  stay  'long  o'  Sophy  'gin. 
Dreffle  sight  o'  dead  corpses  to  come  under  ruff." 


404  SEA-SPRAY. 

Poor  Dury  set  the  tea-table  and  soliloquized,  with  a  sad, 
troubled  presentiment  in  her  simple  heart,  for  she  loved  the 
gentle  stranger,  who  had  never  extended  to  her  aught  but 
kind  words  and  liberal  largess,  with  smiling  thanks  for  all 
her  acts  of  service.  Meantime  Leeua  and  Alice,  with 
the  assistance  of  their  kind  neighbors,  Milly  Henshaw  and 
her  sisters,  who  had  been  life-long  friends,  always  ready 
with  a  helping  hand,  in  joy  or  in  sorrow,  with  a  merry 
laugh  or  a  gush  of  tears,  as  the  case  might  be,  had  been 
busy  all  over  the  house,  settling  things  after  the  funeral, 
re-arranging  and  preparing  their  house  and  their  hearts 
for  another  chapter  in  the  sad  history  of  sickness,  and  sor- 
row, and  death.  Everything  had  a  muffled  and  peculiar 
sound,  for  that  solemn  hush  was  over  everything,  the  inde- 
scribable melancholy  stillness  of  that  first  terrible  night, 
when  the  fresh  memory  of  the  newly  departed  pervades 
and  hallows  the  places  left  desolate,  as  with  a  visible  and 
palpable  presence.  When  the  heart  hears,  as  with  a 
quickened  sense,  the  sounds  it  has  so  long  listened  to,  the 
gentle  voice,  the  moaning  plaint,  the  murmuring  prayer, 
the  panting  sigh,  the  failing  breath,  all  coming  up  in  the 
stillness  of  that  oppressive  silence,  which  almost  speaks, 
which  does  speak,  in  audible  throbs  in  the  swelling,  suffo- 
cating heart,  that  listens  in  its  loneliness. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ATHERTON  sought  his  daughter  in  a  state  of  bewildering 
perplexity.  What  should  he  say  to  the  child  so  uncon- 
scious of  evil ;  whose  heart  had,  from  her  infant  years,  been 
filled  with  sweet  images  of  the  mother  so  loved  and  so  la- 
mented by  all  who  had  surrounded  her  ?  How  could  he 
call  the  blush  of  shame  to  that  fair  young  brow  ?  How 
tell  the  tale  of  a  mother's  disgrace,  and  desertion  of  home 
and  all  its  holy  ties,  to  the  ears  of  the  pure-minded 
daughter  ? 

"  It  is  useless  to  study  sentences,  or  frame  modes  and 
forms  of  expression  which  I  shall  not  utter,"  thought  he,  as 
he  ascended  to  the  private  parlor  in  which  she  was  sitting. 
"  I  will  tell  her  the  simple  truth,  and  leave  the  manner  and 
the  issue  with  God." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  said  Ellen,  joyfully,  as  he  entered,  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come.  What  has  kept  you  so  long  ?" 

"  I  encountered  a  scene  of  great  trial  and  sorrow,  Ellen, 
my  child,  and  it  has  quite  overcome  me,"  said  Atherton, 
sinking  into  a  seat,  even  more  agitated  than  he  had 
feared. 

"  I  see  it  has,  papa.  How  pale  and  distressed  you  look ; 
and  you  are  trembling  all  over.  Papa,  you  are  sick  ?" 

"  No,  Ellen  dear,  don't  be  alarmed ;  but  my  feelings  have 


406  SEA-SPRAY. 

been  severely  wrought  upon.  Let  me  collect  myself,  and 
I  will  tell  you." 

Atherton  laid  his  face  in  his  hands  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa, 
and  sent  up  a  brief  petition  for  strength  and  guidance,  ere 
he  spoke  : 

"Ellen,  you  remember  Captain  De  Koven's  telling  us  an 
interesting  story  of  his  shipwreck  and  subsequent  sojourn 
in  this  place,  and  the  interest  it  excited,  so  strongly  as  to 
induce  us  to  visit  a  people  he  had  described  in  such  glowing 
terms  ?" 

"  I  do,  of  course  ;"  a  soft  flush  mantling  her  fair  face  as 
Ellen  replied :  "  The  ladies  at  the  house  here  have 
been  telling  me  a  sad  story  of  the  wrecked  family ;  of  the 
mute  girl ;  the  beautiful  boy,  just  dead,  whom  everybody 
loved  ;  and  the  pale,  melancholy,  declining  lady,  so  fair  and 
frail,  their  mother." 

"  Did  it  excite  your  sympathy,  Ellen,  my  darling 
child?"  asked  Atherton,  in  tremulous,  choking  accents. 

"  It  did,  indeed,  dear  father.  You  know  I  always  think 
of  my  mother  when  I  hear  of  disasters  on  the  sea.  Did 
you  see  the  lady,  papa  ?  and  was  it  her  affliction  that  has 
so  disturbed  and  overcome  you  ?" 

"  It  was.  It  has  shaken  me  even  more  than  I  was  aware 
at  the  time.  ...  1  want  air." 

Ellen  drew  aside  the  drapery  of  the  window  hastily,  and 
Atherton  sat  down  by  it,  faint  and  breathless. 

"  Dear  father,  you  are  seriously  ill ;  let  me  call  for 
help." 

"  Be  easy,  my  child.  No,  there  is  no  help  for  this,  but 
patience  and  self-control.  Sit  down,  and  listen  with  all  the 
composure  you  can,  for  I  shall  say  much  to  agitate  you. 
Do  you  remember,  Ellen,  the  first  time  we  met  De  Koven, 


SEA-SPRAT.  407 

the  strange  manner  in  which  he  gazed  at  you  ?  so  much  so 
that  I  resented  it  as  impertinent,  until  he,  with  the  frank- 
ness which  belongs  to  his  nature,  explained  and  apologized, 
by  telling  of  the  perfect  resemblance  you  bore  to  Mrs. 
Evelyn?" 

"  I  remember  it  all  ?" 

"  Do  you  also  remember  his  abrupt  breaking  off,  once, 
in  the  midst  of  a  story  he  was  telling,  of  picking  up  a  boat 
adrift  on  the  ocean  ?  and  of  his  many  questions,  so  often 
repeated,  concerning  your  mother's  loss  ?  How  anxiously 
he  noted  the  season,  the  date,  and  how  singularly  curious  we 
thought  he  was,  in  collecting  every  particular?" 

"  I  remember  it  all ;  but  why  should  this  disturb  you  so 
much  more  now  than  then  ?" 

"  Ellen,  dear,  innocent,  forsaken  child,  that  boat  con- 
tained two  individuals  from  the  ill-fated  vessel  in  which  your 
lost  mother  sailed.". 

"  Oh,  father,  speak,  say  on,"  said  Ellen,  bending  forward 
eagerly. 

"  The  one,  a  woman,  young  and  beautiful ;  the  other  a 
man,  also  young,  and  no  unmeet  match  for  her.  Those 
two,  my  child,  I  have  met  to-day, — they  are  the  wrecked 
family  you  spoke  of, — the  parents  of  the  child  I  came  to 
bury." 

"  Oh,  father !  no  wonder  you  are  agitated  at  such  a 
meeting !  Say, — what  knew  they  of  my  mother  ?" 

"Ellen,  Ellen,  my  poor  motherless, forgotten  child!  how 
can  I  tell  you  ?  That  woman,  Ellen,  that  childless,  sor- 
rowing woman,  has  now  no  child  but  you !" 

"  Father,  oh,  father  ! — speak — tell  me — that  woman — 
young  and  beautiful — was  she  my  mother  ?" 

"  It  is  your  mother,  my  child,  that  I  have  seen  to-day,  a 
stricken,  remorseful,  broken-hearted  woman." 


408  SEA-SPRAY. 

"My  mother!  that  angel  mother  whose  sweet  face  has 
so  often  looked  on  me  in  my  dreams !  That  fair,  young 
mother,  before  whose  beautiful  image,  every  day  of  my  life, 
I  have  bent  almost  in  worship !  My  mother,  sick,  suffer- 
ing, and  in  sorrow,  and  I  sitting  idly  here !  Let  me  go, 
father,  let  me  go  to  her,"  said  Ellen,  with  all  Ada's  passion- 
ate impetuosity  exciting  her  movements. 

"Be  calm,  be  quiet,  my  child,  and  hear  the  whole. 
Have  you  considered  that  your  mother  is  voluntarily  here. 
That  of  her  own  deliberate  choice  she  forsook  husband 
and  child,  home  and  country,  duty,  honor  and  God ;  giv- 
ing love  and  allegiance  to  another ;  disregarding  all  the 
ties  that  bound  her  to  me  and  my  child ;  leaving  me 
to  mourn  in  desolate  widowhood,  and  you  to  motherless 
orphanage.  Concealing  herself  fifteen  years  from  her 
friends,  and  living  a  life  of  dishonor  and  crime  ?  Ellen, 
it  pains  me  to  tell  you  all  this,  but  I  deem  it  right." 

Ellen  had  sunk  on  her  knees,  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa,  as  her  father  told  his  terrible  tale. 

"  And  my  mother  has  done  all  this  ?  What  must  have 
been  the  infernal  art  which  could  tempt  her  to  such  a 
deed  ?  Who  the  wretch  dishonoring  to  manhood,  who 
could  mislead  a  woman  like  her  ?" 

"  Alas,  my  child,  she  has  not  that  poor  plea,  treacherous 
alike  to  him  and  to  me.  The  noble,  high-minded  man  she 
beguiled  and  blighted,  knew  not,  till  he  heard  to-day  from 
my  lips,  that  she  was  not  free  from  every  tie.  He  had 
heard  of  me  as  her  cousin,  and  has  endeavored  to  prevail 
on  her  to  let  him  take  her  to  her  English  home  and  her 
early  friends  ;  this  of  course  she  could  not  do.  Her  life, 
my  child,  has  been  one  long  act  of  dissimulation,  over 
which  let  us  now  linger  no  longer.  I  have  told  you  all  1 


SEA-SPRAY.  409 

know,  Ellen.  I  seek  not  to  influence  you.  You  shall  see 
her  if  you  wish." 

Ellen  did  not  speak  for  some  time.  At  length  she 
asked  : 

"  Did  she  wish  to  see  me  ?  Did  she  ask  about  me  ? 
Has  she  any  interest  in  me  ?" 

"  She  did  not  ask  to  be  permitted  to  see  you.  But  do 
not  think,  Ellen,  that  she  has  ever  forgotten  or  ceased  to 
yearn  for  her  first-born  child.  She  has  been  a  wretched, 
conscience-stricken  woman,  hiding  herself  from  all  inter- 
course with  society,  shifting  from  place  to  place,  having  no 
abiding  home,  shunning  acquaintance,  and  making  no 
friends." 

<(  Father — did  you  meet  that  man  ?" 

"  I  did,  Ellen,  and  pitied  him.  I  could  not,  when  I  had 
learned  the  truth,  feel  any  resentment  toward  him.  His 
wrong  is  greater  than  mine." 

"  And  were  you  kind  and  gentle  with  my  poor  mother  ? 
Did  you  forgive  as  you  Would  be  forgiven  ?" 

"  I  did,  fully  and  freely.  She  was  broken  and  contrite 
in  spirit.  It  is  not  for  man  to  condemn,  when  God  can 
pardon.  I  could  not  look  on  her,  in  her  broken-hearted 
agony,  and  let  any  indignant  feeling  find  harbor  in  my 
heart." 

"  And  Clarence  De  Koven  knows  all  this  ?  How  shall 
I  meet  his  eye?"  said  Ellen,  the  blush  of  mortified  woman- 
hood burning  on  her  cheek.  "  He  saved  them  on  the 
sea ;  he  has  known  and  loved  them ;  he  loved  their 
children,  and  he  sorrows  for  them  now.  I  saw  the  deep 
grief  on  his  face  when  they  told  him  the  boy  was  dead. 
Oh !  how  shall  I  ever  again  meet  his  eye  ?" 

Ellen  blushed  deeper  than  before ;  covering  her  burn- 


410  SEA-SPRAY. 

ing  face  with  her  trembling  hands,  and  sinking  down 
on  her  knees,  she  bent  her  head  on  the  cushions  and  wept 
her  first  bitter  tears.  Oh,  the  first  great  grief,  how  it 
wrings  and  wrenches  the  heart,  blotting  out  all  the  bright 
visions  of  the  future,  poisoning  with  regret  and  pain 
the  sweet  memories  of  the  past !  Nurtured  in  the  bosom 
of  a  secluded,  happy  home,  petted,  cherished,  and  ca- 
ressed, Ellen  had  never  known  a  sorrow,  and  now  to  meet 
such  an  overwhelming  blow  as  this !  Her  mother,  upon 
whose  portrait,  hanging  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  her  first 
conscious  look  had  been  lifted  every  morning  of  her  life, 
ever  looking  down  upon  her  with  those  mild,  loving  eyes, 
mingling  their  peace-giving  associations  in  her  thoughts, 
with  her  earliest  devotions — her  mother,  whose  name  had 
been  ever  breathed  among  their  sweet  household  words, 
a  synonym  for  purity  and  blessedness  ;  here  a  living  and 
breathing  reality!  a  voluntary  outcast  from  honor  and 
truthfulness  !  a  wilful  reproach  and  blot  upon  womanhood ! 
Lower  and  lower  she  bowed  down  her  beautiful  head, 
cowering  down,  that  sweet,  sorrowing  girl,  to  shut  out  the 
tormenting  remembrance.  Oh !  how  was  her  gladness 
overshadowed  ?  How,  for  her,  had  the  poetry  of  life  passed 
away,  and  the  sweet  dream  of  her  early  years  departed  for- 
ever ? 

Atherton  paced  the  room,  and  waited  quietly  for  the 
first,  turbulence  of  sorrow  to  subside  in  Ellen's  heart,  be- 
fore he  attempted  any  suggestions  of  comfort.  Deeply 
as  it  pained  him  to  see  her  grief,  he  felt  that  she  was  learn- 
ing a  life-abiding  lesson.  It  was  the  chastening  appointed 
to  her,  and  what  warrant  had  he  that  she  might  not  need 
it  ?  Was  not  Ada  young  and  fair,  and  to  all  outward 
seeming,  pure?  Was  she  not  as  carefully,  prayerfully 


SEA-SPRAT.  411 

and  tenderly  reared  and  instructed  ?  and  yet,  what  had 
been  the  result  ?  He  spoke  at  length  : 

"Come,  Ellen,  compose  yourself  now.  You  have  had 
no  tea.  Arrange  your  disordered  dress,  and  prepare  your- 
self to  go  down.  We  both  need  refreshment.  We  must 
bear  this,  my  child,  bravely  and  patiently.  It  is  the  cross 
appointed  to  us  ;  let  us  not  sink  under  it ;  we  are  not  the 
greatest  sufferers.  Think  of  her,  childless,  bereaved, -for- 
saken in  her  solitary  grief,  and  thank  God,  that  your  sor- 
row brings  with  it  no  sting  of  self-reproach." 

"I  do  think  of  her,  and  my  heart  reproaches  me,  that  I 
have  been  lamenting  more  my  own  wounded  pride  than 
her  bleeding  heart.  Oh !  she  is  my  mother  not  the  less, 
and  shall  strangers  watch  over  her  in  sickness,  and  minis- 
ter to  her  in  sorrow,  and  her  child  so  near  ?  Who  should 
bear  with,  pity,  love,  and  cling  to  her,  if  L  cannot  ?  Let  me 
go  to  her,  father,  I  can  comfort  and  tend  her  as  none 
other  can.  Oh,  let  me  go  to  her  now,  when  her  need  is  the 
sorest !" 

"  You  shall  see  her,  if  she  wishes  it,  but  not  to-night ; 
all  agitation  has  been  forbidden.  It  is  not  safe  for  her  to 
see  you  to-night." 

"  Is  she  then  so  weak  as  that  ?  I  can  lose  no  time — 
I  must  go  to  her,  dear  father.  I  must  —  I  will  obey  you 
always,  in  everything ;  only  indulge  me  in  this,  dear  fa- 
ther, only  in  this." 

"  Not  to-night,  Ellen,  it  is  impossible ;  to-morrow,  if  she 
wishes  it,  I  will  take  you  to  see  her." 

The  tea  bell  rang,  and  Atherton  insisted  that  Ellen 
should  go  down.  "  It  will  be  no  easier  to-morrow,  and  we 
must  meet  this.  If  curious  eyes  are  upon  us/what  matters 
it?  it  is  nothing  new  to  be  looked  at." 


412  SEA-SPRAY. 

Ellen  reverenced  her  father.  She  composed  herself, 
adjusted  her  disheveled  tresses,  and  went  calmly  down. 
The  great  hotel  table  was  crowded,  but  if  any  there  knew 
aught  of  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  newly  arrived 
guests,  the  knowledge  was  not  betrayed  by  a  glance,  and 
Ellen  passed  the  dreaded  ordeal  without  any  annoyance. 

"Ellen,"  said  Atherton,  as  they  were  taking  a  slow 
promenade  on  the  piazza  after  tea,  "  De  Koven  has  prom- 
ised to  call  late  in  the  evening  to  bring  me  intelligence 
from  our  friends  up  the  street.  You  can  retire  to  the  par- 
lor or  not,  as  you  please.  I  shall  remain  below  to  await 
Clarence." 

Ellen  prepared  to  retire,  and  withdrew  to  the  room  above. 
She  could  not,  in  this  first  hour  of  her  deep  humiliation, 
brook  the  thought  of  meeting  De  Koven.  He  had  been 
their  companion  in  so  many  pleasant  scenes  ;  meeting,  as 
they  had  done  so  often,  at  hotels,  and  on  the  great  thor- 
oughfares of  fashionable  travel,  an  intimacy  had  been 
established  between  them,  beyond  that  ordinarily  the  result 
of  casual  companionship.  On  their  part  it  had  been  at 
first  purely  accidental.  By  De  Koven  it  had  been  sought 
with  a  premeditated  purpose ;  to  solve  the  strange  doubts 
which  had  long  since  arisen  in  his  mind  with  regard  to 
Ada ;  to  ascertain,  so  far  as  possible,  without  open  explana- 
tion with  Atherton,  the  strong  facts  of  the  case,  and 
shield  and  save  Evelyn  from  the  sudden  discovery  of  cir- 
cumstances so  utterly  unthought  of.  But,  in  seeking  to 
unravel  the  web  in  which  his  friend  was  entangled,  he  had 
inadvertently  set  his  own  foot  in  a  mesh :  and  his  sympa- 
thies were  now  deeply  enlisted  for  the  calm,  dignified,  com- 
panionable English  clergyman,  and  his  artless,  affable 
daughter.  To  prevent  the  meeting,  which,  on  learning 


SEA-SPRAY.  413 

their  contemplated  visit  to  Boston,  and  subsequently  to 
Montauk,  he  felt  to  be  inevitable,  he  had  first  delayed, 
and  afterwards  hastened  his  visit  to  Sea-spray.  But  he  was 
too  late.  The  dreaded  meeting  had  taken  place  ;  he  could 
do  nothing  now,  but  stand  as  mediator  and  moderator 
between  them.  With  Atherton  no  moderator  was  needed. 
With  him  truth  was  truth,  and  justice,  justice  ;  and  he 
bound  their  simple,  unmistakable  teachings  upon  his  own 
conscience,  when  his  own  feelings  and  interests  were  in- 
volved, as  honestly  and  unflinchingly  as  when  examining 
and  deciding  for  others. 

With  Evelyn  his  task  was  more  difficult.  His  sphere  of 
action  and  influence  had  been  brought  within  very  narrow 
and  circumscribed  limits  —  himself  and  the  little  dependent 
circle  of  which  he  formed  the  centre.  This,  from  its  pecu- 
liar character  and  helplessness,  engrossed  all  his  feelings 
and  energies  ;  which,  though  honest,  elevated,  refined  and 
truthful,  were  not  expansive.  With  noble  principles,  purity 
and  pride  in  his  own  heart,  he  had  given  little  heed  to  the 
beatings  of  the  great  human  pulse.  He  had  not  studied 
the  heart  of  his  fellow,  and  learned  to  judge,  analyze  and 
separate  its  passions  and  impulses,  to  trace  home  to  their 
sources  and  springs  its  errors,  to  weigh  and  examine  its 
motives  and  temptations  ;  spreading  over  all  the  man- 
tle of  Christian  forbearance  and  charity,  to  pity  and  par- 
don where  he  could  not  amend.  At  the  thought  of  dis- 
honor, his  hot  southern  blood  coursed  in  mad  bounds 
through  his  veins,  gushing  back  in  fiery  floods  on  his  heart. 
With  him,  in  his  wrathful  excitement,  De  Koven  found  it 
difficult  to  reason  or  to  plead.  He  wanted  time  to  let  his 
irritated  temper  cool,  to  look  into  and  school  his  heart ;  to 
teach  himself  patience,  and  to  look  without,  and  above, 
and  beyond  himself,  for  peace. 


414  SEA-SPRAY. 

So  De  Koven  bade  him  good-night,  and  left  him  to  take 
counsel  of  his  pillow,  while  he  returned  to  bear  tidings  to 
Atherton  of  the  situation  of  Ada. 

It  was  little  he  could  say  beyond  the  fact,  that  the  tem- 
pest of  feeling  had  left  her  calm  and  silent,  but  helplessly 
prostrate  ;  that  gentle  guardianship  was  over  her,  and  that 
for  kind  care  and  skilful  attendance  she  could  not  want. 

The  apartment  which  Ellen  occupied  in  the  commodious 
and  well-directed  hotel,  (now  full  of  guests,  but  quiet  as 
any  private  residence  on  the  street,)  overlooked  the  principal 
street  and  promenade  of  Sea-spray.  It  was  early,  and  as 
she  had  no  wish  to  retire,  she  extinguished  her  light,  and 
sat  down  amid  the  screening  drapery  of  the  window,  con- 
cealed from  observation  by  its  snowy  folds,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  scene,  to  her  so  new  and  strange. 

It  was  one  of  those  brilliant,  moonlight  evenings  on 
which  Sea-spray  shines  forth  in  her  sheeniest  splendors, 
cool  and  calm  in  her  balmy  redolence,  bright  and  beautiful 
to  look  out  upon,  but  like  many  of  earth's  glittering  seem- 
ings,  dangerous  from  her  chill  clinging  damps,  to  touch  or 
trifle  with.  In  the  distance  spread  the  Atlantic,  its  unruf- 
fled surface  gleaming  in  the  moonbeams  like  a  field  of  fire  ; 
nearer,  in  the  fields,  in  green  acres,  stood  the  sturdy  corn, 
every  long,  pendant  leaf  shining  with  moon-lit  moisture ; 
and  nearer  still,  the  tall  trees,  the  long,  graceful  branches 
almost  sweeping  the  house,  their  leaves  quivering  in  bur- 
nished beauty,  while,  gleaming  through  them,  the  sifted  ra- 
diance floated  on  the  smooth,  green  sod.  The  walk  was 
thronged  with  groups  of  happy  children,  propelling  their 
little  carriages,  trundling  their  hoops,  or  chasing  their  toys 
or  their  gleeful  mates,  with  whoop,  and  call,  and  shouts  of 
thoughtless  joy.  Laughing  girls  tripped  along,  with  sweet, 


SEA-SPRAT.  415 

singing  voices,  fearless  of  care,  and  strangers  to  trouble. 
Young  men  strolled  leisurely  up  and  down,  with  cigars  be- 
tween their  teeth,  often  a  gentleman,  and  oftener  a  bad 
personation  of  one.  Knots  of  substantial  looking  person- 
ages were  gathered  about  in  deep,  earnest  discourse,  dis- 
cussing sage  questions  of  vital  political  import,  of  immense 
weight  in  their  bearings  upon  the  close  coming  election. 
Little  cautious  caucusings  were  being  held  around  trees, 
or  along  the  line  of  high  board  fences,  concerting  measures 
preliminary  to  primary  meetings,  or  nominating  conven- 
tions, while  just  within  convenient  hearing  distance,  stood 
an  eager  listener,  peeling  an  apple,  and  looking  innocently 
up  at  the  moon,  pretending  not  to  notice,  but  swallowing 
every  word  for  future  use  and  capital  somewhere. 

All  these  passing  figures  and  stationary  groupings  met 
the  listless  gaze  of  the  fair  stranger  who  looked  out  upon 
them,  but  had  little  interest  or  meaning  for  her.  Poor  lit- 
tle Sea-spray,  which  De  Koven's  conversation  had  invested 
with  an  ideal  charm,  was  shorn  of  all  its  attractions,  and 
doomed  to  be  henceforth  associated  only  with  thoughts  of 
sorrow.  The  peaceful  landscape,  which  last  night  she 
would  so  have  joyed  to  look  upon,  was  all  darkened  to  her 
vision  now.  The  eye,  which  would  have  brightened  at  its 
beauty,  was  dimmed  with  tears.  The  heart,  which  would 
have  warmed,  was  sunken  and  sad.  It  was  all  lost.  A 
light,  bounding  step  echoed  along  the  walk,  and  a  figure 
approached  which  Ellen  could  not  mistake.  She  bent 
slightly  forward  to  look,  as  her  father  came  out  from  the 
shadow  of  the  piazza,  and  joining  De  Koven,  walked  away 
with  him,  in  earnest  discourse.  Ellen  dropped  her  head  on 
the  window-sill,  to  hide  the  burning  blush  there  was  none 
to  witness,  as  she  thought. 


416  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  All  this  sin  and  shame  is  known  to  him  !  Oh,  misera- 
ble mother,  what  ruin  you  have  wrought  for  yourself  and 
all  connected  with  yom  ! — and  yet — what  is  his  opinion  to 
us  ?  What  the  sneers  and  scorn  of  all  the  world,  that  they 
should  come  between  me  and  my  suffering  mother  ?  Let 
him  despise  me  if  he  will ;  he  is  nothing  to  me.  Though 
all  the  world  forsake  and  renounce  me,  for  her  sake,  I  will 
cling  to  her  not  the  less." 

Ellen  drew  from  her  bosom  a  miniature  of  Ada,  taken  in 
her  early  girlhood,  and  gazed  on  it  through  her  tears. 

"  Can  I  ever  associate  thoughts  of  evil  with  an  image 
like  this  ?  It  cannot  be  that  my  mother  is  all  depraved. 
I  will  not  think  it.  If  she  is  wandering  in  error  and  sin, 
it  shall  be  mine  to  recall  and  reclaim  her.  If  she  is  pining  in 
rejection  and  penitence,  it  shall  be  mine  to  revive  and  con- 
sole her." 

A  step  at  the  door  recalled  her  thoughts,  and  her  father 
entered  to  inquire  after  her  comfort,  and  to  encourage  and 
cheer  her  ;  repeating  all  he  had  learned  from  De  Koven 
with  regard  to  Ada,  adding,  as  he  concluded  : 

"  She  has  kind  and  attached  friends  besides  De  Koven, 
who  will  not,  in  this  trying  crisis,  look  coldly  upon  her. 
Be  comforted  my  child.  This  is  but  a  fleeting  cloud  over 
your  morning  brightness ;  it  will  soon  pass  away ;  and 
your  heart  will  be  the  wiser  for  its  brief  overshadowing." 

He  laid  his  book  on  the  table,  and  there,  in  the  silvery 
moonlight,  beneath  a  strange  roof,  in  a  strange  land, 
the  father  and  daughter  knelt  together  in  their  lonely  de- 
votions, lifting  their  hearts  to  the  same  ever  present  God, 
in  the  same  blessed  words  as  in  their  own  loved  land 
and  'neath  the  hallowed  roof  of  their  own  far  off  home. 
They  parted  thenlfor  the  night,  and  soon  stillness  wrapt 


SEA-SPBAY.  417 

little  Sea-spray,  sparkling,  unheeded,  in  her  silvery  dewiness  ; 
and  the  silent  moon  walked  on,  looking  down  on  sorrow 
and  on  joy,  on  soft,  refreshing  slumbers,  and  on  pillows  wet 
with  tears ;  on  parted  lips  smiling  in  sweet  dreams,  and 
on  faces  writhing  with  fierce  passions,  and  forms  tossing 
to  and  fro  in  sleepless,  harrassing  disquietude ;  on  hope- 
ful,  happy  hearts,  and  bruised  and  broken  ones,  thrown 
by  mysterious  guidance  beneath  one  roof,  in  close,  uncon- 
scious neighborhood ;  casting  on  all  her  cold,  incurious 
beams  ;  shining  at  once  on  evil  and  on  good,  heedless  alike 
who  sorrowed  or  who  slumbered. 

So,  Sea-spray  slept  in  the  solemn  night,  with  no  sound 
breaking  over  her  slumbers,  but  the  ocean  moaning  and 
murmuring  to  the  whispering  south  wind  ;  and  sometimes 
to  break  the  poetical  charm  and  spirituality  of  the  Eden- 
like  scene,  the  cry  of  a  sleepless  watch-dog  baying  in  the 
distance,  or  the  shrill  discordant  voice  of  a  sentinel  goose 
calling  out  the  relief  guard. 


18 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DE  KOVEN  and  Hardy  were  sitting  after  breakfast  in 
Hardy's  pleasant  parlor  enjoying  an  unconstrained  lounge, 
and  an  easy,  rambling,  desultory  chat  about  anything,  and 
everything,  and  nothing  in  particular.  There  had  been  a 
pause,  which  De  Koven  broke  by  asking,  somewhat  ab- 
ruptly : 

"  Do  you  remember,  Hardy,  a  remark  you  made  the  first 
evening  of  our  acquaintance,  in  reply  to  my  impatient,  dis- 
contented query  on  the  subject  of  Edith's  death,  that  '  it 
was  ordered  in  mercy  ?'  " 

"  I  remember  you  were  rather  disposed  to  question  the 
justice  of  the  Great  Disposer  in  that  case.  What  calls  it 
up  now  ?" 

"  The  fact  that  I  see  already  your  words  were  true,  and 
that  it  was  in  great  mercy  the  poor  little  sensitive,  help- 
less thing  was  taken  from  this  world  before  the  evil  days 
came  that  have  come." 

"  I  generally  intend  to  understand  what  I  am  talking 
about  when  I  talk ;  and  1  calculate  my  words  will  come 
out  for  the  most  part  not  very  wide  of  the  mark,"  replied 
Hardy,  tilting  his  chair  back  on  its  hinder  legs,  and  in- 
serting his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  vest. 

"  They  have  come  out  right  in  this  instance,  certainly. 


SEA-SPRAT.  419 

How  is  it,  Hardy,  that  in  matters  of  this  kind,  some  can 
see  so  clearly,  while  others  are  always  in  the  dark?  Some 
all  faith,  and  others  all  doubt  or  indifference  ?"  • 

"  I  suppose  the  difficulty  is  within  themselves.  Some 
are  too  proud  to  trust ;  they  must  know.  They  must  reason 
and  argue,  have  judgment  convinced  and  doubts  solved, 
crooked  things  laid  straight,  and  dark  things  made  light, 
and  puzzling  things  made  plain.  Is  it  not  so  with  you? 
Are  you  not  seeking  to  be  guided  by  your  own  wisdom,  and 
to  stand  in  your  own  strength  ?" 

"  Perhaps  1  am,"  replied  De  Koven,  a  little  sadly. 
"  'Whoso  trusteth  in  his  own  heart  is  a  fool,' "  is  the  declara- 
tion of  Holy  Writ,  and  who  shall  dare  to  gainsay  its 
sacred  authority ;  for  who  has  not  found,  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  own  experience,  ample  and  painful  conviction  of  its 
truth  ?  Who  that  has  listened  to,  and  been  beguiled  by 
the  whisperings  of  its  wild  and  wayward  imaginings,  is 
not  ready  to  admit  that  the  deceitfulness  of  his  own  heart 
has  betrayed  him,  and  to  exclaim,  in  the  hour  of  disappoint- 
ment and  disgust,  truly  saith  the  Preacher :  '  This  also  is 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.' " 

"  Very  true,  my  good  friend,"  replied  Hardy ;  "  I  am 
glad  to  hear  you  acknowledge  it.  You  will  find  it  so  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter." 

"And  yet,"  resumed  De  Koven,  scarcely  heeding  Hardy's 
reply — "  and  yet,  notwithstanding  the  examples  and  warn- 
ings which  our  own  cheated  hopes  afford  us,  we  go  forth 
trusting  in  our  own  wisdom,  and  yielding  ourselves  willing 
dupes  to  our  own  idle  delusions.  But  when  we  look  back 
upon  the  path  which  we  have  trod,  and  mark  the  many 
arid  and  sterile  spots  which  lie  as  landmarks  along  its 
course,  can  we  forbear  to  acknowledge  that  we  have  failed 


420  SEA-SPRAY. 

to  order  our  steps  aright,  and  that,  trusting  to  our  own 
hearts,  they  have  led  us  astray  ?" 

"  Even -so.  You  seem  pretty  well  read  in  the  history  of 
a  heart  left  to  its  own  guidance,  and  take  a  right  Scriptural 
view.  You  are  coming  on,  and  I  think  there  are  some 
hopes  of  you  yet,"  said  Hardy,  amused  at  the  unusual 
seriousness  of  his  companion. 

"  Well,  I  suppose,  Hardy,  that  which  was  true  of  man 
in  the  days  of  the  wise  man  continues  true  to  the  present 
day;  for  ages,  as  they  roll,  take  not  one  jot  or  tittle  from 
the  eternity  of  God's  truth.  In  every  succeeding  age  man 
is  the  same.  The  customs  and  manners  which  one  period 
sanctions  another  may  condemn,  for  the  fashion  of  this 
world  soon  passes  away ;  but  in  the  inherent  qualities  of 
the  heart  man  changes  not.  He  is  the  same  being  of 
selfish  passions,  actuated  by  the  same  feelings,  whether 
good  or  evil  ;  a  slave  to  the  same  propensities,  and  liable 
to  the  same  infirmities.  The  same  invincible  love  of  life 
and  its  empty,  illusive  enjoyments  is  implanted  in  his 
heart,  and  the  same  chilling  drend  of  death  holds  dominion 
over  him.  The  same  jealousies  ajid  enmities  to  embitter, 
and  the  same  kindly  affections  to  soothe  and  sweeten  life, 
are  nourished  in  his  breast ;  and  so,  from  age  to  age  man 
is  the  same,  only  varying  in  degrees  of  virtue  or  vice,  as 
good  or  evil  predominates  ir  that  strange  blending  of  con- 
tradictory qualities,  the  human  heart.  And  so  he  will 
continue  to  be,  long  after  you  and  I,  Hardy,  have  played 
out  our  parts  and  gone  down  to  the  dust." 

De  Koven  rose  as  he  spoke,  with  the  intention  of  seeking 
Evelyn.  The  painful  lessons  he  had  been  reading  in  the 
last  few  hours  had  depressed  and  disheartened  him.  The 
deep,  deep  sin  staining  the  character  of  one  whom  he  had 


SEA-SPRAY.  421 

been  accustomed  to  regard  with  respect  and  affectionate 
admiration,  and  the  consequent  shame  and  sorrow  it  had 
entailed  upon  the  friend  he  so  much  loved,  had  shaken 
sadly  his  faith  in  self-sustaining  strength,  and  taken  from 
him,  in  a  great  measure,  his  sturdy,  relf-relying  pride. 
Hardy  also  rose  to  go  forth  to  the  bustling  business  occu- 
pations of  every  day  life,  with  the  cheerfulness  which 
honorable  and  useful  avocations,  actively  pursued,  always 
engender  in  well-balanced  minds. 

De  Koven  encountered  Allen  coming  to  summon  him. 
He  found  Evelyn  unable  to  rise.  The  long  wearying 
watch  he  had  been  keeping  night  and  day  by  Ernest's 
couch,  the  wasting  wearisomeness  of  grief,  followed  by  the 
exhausting  emotions  of  yesterday,  were  telling  now  upon 
his  frame  in  pain  and  lassitude,  utterly  disqualifying  him 
for  any  physical  exertion.  When  he  awoke  from  his 
fitful,  feverish  slumbers,  and  attempted  to  rise,  he  found,  to 
his  dismay,  that  he  had  not  the  strength  to  do  so. 

Allen,  with  kind  inquiries,  was  early  at  his  bed-side,  and 
after  some  consultations  with  his  friends  in  the  family, 
Evelyn  dispatched  him  for  De  Koven.  De  Koven  grasped 
the  burning  hand  which  Evelyn  extended  to  him,  saying : 

"  You  will  have  to  keep  still  a  day  or  two,  and  let  us 
nurse  you.  I  trust  this  is  nothing  serious.  You  will  be 
none  the  worse  for  a  little  rest." 

"  Rest,  De  Koven,  rest !  when  my  only  salvation  is 
flight !  When  duty,  and  manhood,  and  honour,  all  urge 
me  to  be  up  and  away  !  Oh,  this  accursed,  disabling  child- 
ishness, that  it  should  chain  me  here  now !" 

"  Don't  distress  yourself  about  that.  Every  one  who 
knows  aught  of  this  sad  affair,  knows  that  your  honor  is 
without  stain." 


422  SEA-SPRAY. 

"  Without  stain,  indeed !"  replied  Evelyn,  turning  his 
head  impatiently  on  his  pillow  ;  "  who  will  believe  that  re- 
port ?  Has  not  ray  whole  course  of  life  given  the  lie  to  it  ? 
Flitting  from  place  to  place  without  home  or  continuing 
city,  known  nowhere  but  as  a  bird  of  passage,  a  vaga- 
bond, fleeing  before  the  fear  of  pursuit  and  detection  ?  The 
thief  of  another  man's  wife,  scared  at  the  hue  and  cry  of 
the  rabble  behind  him  ?  I  cannot  lie  here.  Help  me  up, 
De  Koven — let  me  be  off, — I  will  go." 

The  effort  was  vain,  and  Evelyn  sunk  back  in  chafing, 
futile  wrath,  upon  his  pillow. 

"  Evelyn,  Evelyn,  this  is  madness  and  folly — it  is  unlike 
and  unworthy  yourself.  The  picture  you  have  drawn  is 
but  the  conjuring-up  of  a  sick  fancy  ;  there  is  neither  rea- 
son nor  reality  in  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Evelyn,  with  a  hesitating 
and  abstracted  expression — "  perhaps  you  are  ;  but  it  is  so 
tantalizing  to  be  broken  down  and  detained  here  now, 
when  the  only  thing  I  could  do  was  to  take  myself  away. 
Well,  since  it  is  so,  I  must  lie  here  and  look  dishonor  tame- 
ly in  the  face,  like  the  pitiful  scoundrel  men  will  take  me 
for."  The  fire  gleamed  up  again  in  his  dark,  lustrous 
eye,  and  his  cheek  flushed  with  more  than  fever's  heat. 

"  Nonsense,  Evelyn,  you  vex  me  with  clinging  to  that 
absurd  idea.  Do  you  think,"  said  De  Koven,  laughing, 
"do  you  think  stch  a  magnificent  fellow  as  Clarence  De 
Koven  would  lend  you  the  light  of  his  countenance,  if 
there  was  such  a  word  as  disgrace  coupled  with  your 
name  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  you  would  desert  a  friend  in  his  extrem- 
ity, De  Koven,  whatever  you  might  think  of  his  deserts.  I 
know  you  will  acquit  me  of  guilt  in  this  matter ;  with  your 


SEA- SPRAY.  423 

intimate  knowledge  of  all  the  circumstances,  you  could 
not  do  otherwise.  I  will  try  to  be  more  patient.  As  you 
say,  I  am  changed.  This  irritable,  angry  mood  makes 
me  a  stranger  to  myself.  My  trials  have  hitherto  been 
softening  ;  touching  only  the  springs  of  tenderness.  I  did 
not  know  that  I  carried  within  me  a  temper  so  fierce  and 
undisciplined.  I  must  try  to  curb  and  restrain  it.  I  find," 
continued  he,  as  if  speaking  to  his  own  thoughts,  "  there 
are  some  excruciating  situations,  in  which  men  do  not  so 
readily  recognize  the  hand  of  God,  and  to  which  they  can- 
not at  once  apply  the  balm  of  religious  consolations.  This 
is  one  of  them.  Shall  I  let  it  tempt  me  to  forget  my  hum- 
ble, childlike  trust  in  my  Heavenly  Father,  and  my  patient, 
prayerful  acquiescence  in  His  will  ?" 

Evelyn  covered  his  face  with  his  hot,  throbbing  hands, 
and  lifted  his  heart  on  high,  while  De  Koven  silently  bowed 
his  head  with  the  newly  awakened  desire,  hardly  a  con- 
scious prayer,  for  faith,  and  grace,  and  guidance. 

"  Now,  let  me  ask,  De  Koven,  what  of  her  ?  Is  she 
calm  ?  is  she  submissive  ?  My  heart  is  grieved  for  her  suf- 
ferings, but  I  may  not  soothe  it !  Alas  ! — who  can?" 

It  was  painful  to  De  Koven  to  reply  to  the  question  of 
his  friend,  but  he  could  not  evade  it.  Ada  had  passed  a 
disturbed,  miserable  night ;  her  mind  unsettled,  and  her 
words  wandering  and  incoherent.  Evelyn  groaned  and 
shuddered,  but  he  was  helpless  himself.  In  no  case  could 
he  sustain  and  comfort,  and  now, — ah,  it  was  better  as  it 
was, — God  had  ordered  ;  it  was  not  left  to  his  volition. 

"  You  can  have  no  anxiety  with  regard  to  her  personal 
comfort — everything  is  cared  for.  At  present  she  does  not 
suffer  from  the  consciousness  of  your  absence,  or  the  cause 
of  it.  Keep  yourself  quiet, — you  will  recruit  in  a  day  or 


424  SEA-SPRAY. 

two ;  and  then,  I  will  go  with  you, — to  the  world's  end,  if 
you  say  so.  Time  will  make  smooth  all  this  rough  passage. 
There  is  fair  weather  ahead, — take  a  sailor's  word  for  it," 
said  De  Koven,  cheerfully,  laying  his  hand  on  Evelyn's. 

"  You  are  kind,  De  Koven — I  thank  you.  Time  will  not 
give  me  back  my  dead,  Clarence." 

The  soft  chord  was  touched  in  the  father's  heart,  and  the 
tears  welled  up  and  overflowed. 

"  No,  but  eternity  will,"  said  De  Koven,  with  an  assur- 
ance in  his  own  heart,  to  which  it  had  hitherto  been  a 
stranger. 

"I  should  be  wretched  indeed,  did  I  not  believe  so.  I 
think,  dear,  generous  De  Koven,  I  will  claim  your  promise 
of  companionship,  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  travel  and  go 
abroad  with  you.  And  yet,  poor  Ada,  the  mother  of  my 
loved,  lost  children,  it  seems  cruel  and  unmanly  to  desert 
her  now.  Act  for  me,  Clarence,  I  am  weak  and  wo- 
manish." 

"  You  need  have  no  misgivings  on  her  account.  She 
has  had  many  conversations  with  our  friend,  Mr.  Alden, 
on  this  subject.  Her  mind  was  fully  prepared,  before  the 
arrival  of  Atherton,  for  a  speedy  separation  from  you. 
Atherton  is  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman.  He  feels  that, 
though  no  more  his  wife,  she  still  has  claims  of  consangui- 
nity upon  him,  which  he  fully  recognizes ;  and  we  all  con- 
cur in  the  feeling,  that  the  care  of  protecting  her  with 
more  propriety  devolves  upon  him.  Her  daughter  is  anx- 
ious to  be  with  her,  and  will  be  her  best  companion  and 
comforter.  Divest  yourself  of  all  anxiety  on  her  account, 
and  get  well  as  fast  as  you  can.  We  will  see  sunny  days 
yet." 

"  You  are  young  and  sanguine,"   said   Evelyn,    sadly, 


SEA-SPRAY.  425 

"  but  send  my  little  friend,  Allen,  to  sit  with  me,  and  go 
you  among  your  friends.     Possibly  I  may  sleep." 

De  Koven  did  as  lie  was  desired.  A  soothing  anodyne 
was  administered  to  Evelyn,  and  with  Allen  sitting  quietly 
by  his  bedside  he  soon  fell  into  deep,  renovating  slumber. 
It  was  as  De  Koven  had  said.  Ada  had  passed  a  wild, 
feverish,  sleepless  night,  moaning  and  calling  in  pathetic 
pleadings  for  her  children ;  sometimes  roaming  happily, 
and  holding  gay  and  lively  discourse  with  the  friends,  and 
mid  the  scenes  of  her  early  home  ;  walking  with  her  father 
along  green,  forest  paths,  or  bending  with  Atherton  over 
the  cradle  of  her  first-born  babe.  Then,  with  a  dreamy, 
half-consciousness  caressing  her  rnute  child,  or  wringing 
her  hands  in  anguish  over  her  dying  Ernest,  or  beseeching 
the  forgiveness,  and  deprecating  the  displeasure,  of  Walter. 
She,  too,  had  now  fallen  into  a  deep,  heavy  sleep,  from 
which  they  were  hoping  beneficial  effects,  and  over  which 
they  were  anxiously  watching.  De  Koven  looked  in  for 
a  moment  on  the  pale  sleeper  with  many  conflicting  emo- 
tions, then  turned  away  and  sought  Atherton,  who  was 
awaiting  him  at  the  hotel.  Ellen  still  kept  in  the  retire- 
ment of  her  own  room,  waiting  the  intelligence  which  De 
Koven  had  promised  Atherton  to  obtain  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

• 

f  ;: 

"  NOT  yet,  Ellen,  not  yet,'"'  continued  Atherton,  after 

having  acquainted  her  with'the  particulars  of  Ada's  situa- 
tion, "we  will  see  in  what  state  she  awakes.  If  she  is  in 
a  calm,  conscious  state,  it  may  be  injudicious  to  agitate  her. 
If  she  is  still  delirious,  it  will  be  of  no  service  to  her,  and 
uselessly  distressing  to  you." 

"  And  that  man,  papa  ;  I  wish  he  could  get  away.  I  can't 
meet  him." 

"  Ellen,  my  dear  child,  that  feeling  is  natural ;  but  in  his 
case  it  is  not  right.  In  all  this  miserable  business,  the 
crudest  wrong  has  been  inflicted  on  him.  When  I  look  on 
you,  my  own  beloved  child,  and  remember  how  I  found 
him  in  his  broken-hearted  misery,  prostrate  on  these  little 
graves,  despoiled  of  everything,  and  standing  on  this  wide 
world  alone,  with  none  to  soothe  or  share  his  sorrow,  I  can- 
not forbear  acknowledging  that,  great  as  is  my  trial,  his  is 
incomparably  greater.  My  dear  Ellen,  you  must  not  be 
ungenerous  or  unjust.  Divest  yourself,  as  far  as  possible, 
of  all  feelings  of  dislike  for  this  unfortunate  man,  whose 
destiny  has  been  so  strangely  interwoven  with  our  own. 
It  may  not  be  necessary  that  you  should  meet.  It  would 
be  as  undesirable  to  him,  perhaps,  as  you.  But  one  consi- 
deration, my  child:  circumstances  will  probably  arise,  under 


SEA-SPEAT.  427 

which  you  may  find  it  difficult  to  act,  if  you  act  under  the 
influence  of  strongly  prejudiced  feelings  now.  Eemember, 
De  Koven  is  his  dearest,  indeed  his  only  friend.  You 
would  not  willingly  cast  a  shadow  on  his  path  by  coming 
between  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  father !  what  strange  words.  '  Surely,  surely  I 
would  not,  if  1  could,  do  a  thing  so  cruel." 

The  blood  rushed  in  crimson  floods  over  Ellen's  cheek 
and  brow  ;  but  there  was  no  dissembling  in  her  nature,  and 
every  thought  of  her'  heart,  in  its  transparent  truthfulness, 
was  open  to  her  father. 

"  Be  patient,  Ellen,  and  composed.  I  am  going  out  to 
walk  with  De  Koven.  You  shall  have  the  first  intelligence 
I  can  procure  for  you.  There  is  healing  for  all  earth's 
wounds,  my  child.  You  have  not  been  left  till  your  hour 
of  need,  to  learn  where  to  seek  it.  I  will  not  leave  you 
long." 

"  How  coolly  men  take  things,"  thought  Ellen,  as  a  smile 
mingled  itself,  like  a  timid,  unbidden  guest,  with  her  blushes 
and  streaming  tears. 

Atherton  and  De  Koven  bent  their  steps  towards  the 
Beach  in  conversation,  at  first  general  and  of  little  interest, 
but  gradually  coming  home  to  subjects  in  which  the  hap- 
piness of  both  was  deeply  involved,  and  which  they  had 
now  for  the  first  time  explicitly  discussed. 

"You  are  precipitate,  my  young  friend.  I  cannot  permit 
you  to  commit  yourself  so  hastily.  T  feel  deeply  the  gene- 
rosity of  your  proposals  at  a  time  like  this ;  but  I  should  be 
unworthy  your  confidence,  could  1  accept  them  now,"  said 
Atherton,  somewhat  agitated. 

"  T  am  aware  that  I  am  presuming,  upon  so  brief  an  ac- 
quaintance, thus  to  ask  of  you  your  daughter,"  resumed  De 


428  SEA-SPRAY. 

Koven.  "  I  am  almost  a  stranger  in  my  own  land,  with 
none  but  business  connections,  and  no  credentials  to  back 
my  pretensions  ;  but  I  am  impelled  to  throw  myself  on  your 
kindness,  thus  abruptly,  because,  as  I  told  you,  I  have  made 
business  arrangements  which  imperatively  demand  my 
presence  in  Europe,  and  because  I  have  pledged  myself  to 
Evelyn  to  take  him  away  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  travel. 
I  beg  you  will  take  these  things  into  consideration,  and 
pardon  my  eager  presumption." 

"  You  do  not  rightly  apprehend  me,  dear  De  Koven," 
replied  Atherton.  "  You  are  young  and  ardent ;  you 
overlook  things,  which  a  father,  or  a  cool,  dispassionate 
friend  would  view  with  less  indulgence,  and  to  whose  ob- 
jections I  should  feel  bound  to  yield  respectful  defer- 
ence." 

"  Thank  God,  then,  that  I  have  no  such  cool,  calculating 
friends,"  said  De  Koven,  impetuously.  "My  noble-hearted 
father  would  have  disowned  me  for  his  son,  if  he  had  sup- 
posed me  capable  of  such  mean,  temporizing  heartless- 
ness." 

"  Since  you  have,  as  you  say,  no  such  friend,  and  will 
not  think  for  yourself,  I  feel  constrained  to  think  for  you, 
in  this  thing  at  least.  I  see  great  objections  for  you,  none 
to  you.  Last  week,  dear,  noble  Clarence,  I  could  have 
wept  tears  of  joy  over  you,  and  devoutly  thanked  God  for 
giving  my  child  such  a  protector.  But  the  aspect  of  things 
is  sadly  changed  in  twenty-four  hours." 

"The  change  has  wrought  no  change  in  my  feelings. 
I  only  love  and  revere  you  the  more  for  the  sorrow  that 
is  upon  you.  Why  should  it  operate  in  this  way  with 
you?" 

"  It  is  right  that  I  consider  it  in  its  inevitable  bearings 


SEA-SPRAY.  429 

upon  me  and  mine.  1  try  to  bear  the  thing  patiently,  and 
not  to  feel  the  stain  it  brings  on  my  family  pride,  so  certain 
do  I  feel  that  none  darkens  my  personal  honor.  But  I 
know  how  these  sad  affairs  in  families  are  regarded  in  the 
great  world,  to  whose  decisions  we  are  all  compelled,  more 
or  less,  to  bow.  I  know  that  at  home,  were  these  circum- 
stances known,  (and  I  should  seek  no  concealment,)  my 
poor  Ellen  would  be  rejected  in  marriage  for  their  sons  by 
every  proud  family  of  her  own  station  in  life." 

De  Koven  clenched  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  angry 
impatience,  as  though  he  longed  to  bring  his  knuckles  in 
contact  with  that  thought  in  some  tangible  form ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  Atherton  went  on  : 

"  It  bears  hard  on  individual  cases,  I  know,"  replying  to 
the  feeling  that  flashed  in  De  Koven's  gesture  ;  "  but  as  a 
general  principle  it  is  right.  It  is  conservative  in  its 
influence  upon  society.  With  many,  fear  of  the  '  world's 
dread  laugh'  is  more  potent  than  the  restraints  of  virtuous 
principles,  the  promptings  of  generous  sympathies,  or  the 
prohibitions  of  God's  laws.  You  have  not  considered  the 
question  deliberately ;  you  have  not  duly  weighed  the 
risks  you  are  incurring.  I  must  do  it  for  you." 

"Eisks!  what  possible  risk  can  1  be  exposing  myself  to 
in  following  out  the  only  path  to  happiness  I  have  ever 
found,  and  seeking  hope  and  home  in  a  union  with  you  and 
yours  ?"  asked  De  Koven,  spiritedly. 

"  The  risk  of  a  long,  lonely,  widowed  life  like  mine,"  re- 
plied Atherton,  with  a  quivering  lip. 

"Were  you  any  but  her  father  that  dared  to  utter  such 
a  thought !"  said  De  Koven,  with  a  hot,  hasty  gesture,  and 
a  kindling  eye. 

"Ah,  Clarence,  Clarence,  if  not  from  her  father,  in  his 


430  SEA-SPRAY. 

unbounded  love,  can  this  be  borne,  how  will  you  brook  it 
in  taunts  from  other  tongues  ?  See  you  not  that  I  am 
right  ?"  said  Atherton,  in  calm  sadness. 

"  No ;  I  cannot  see  right  in  any  supposition  of  such  a 
possibility  as  applied  to  your  daughter.  The  suggestion  is 
preposterous,  insulting  to  her.  What,  Ellen,  so  pure,  so 
shrinking  in  her  retiring  delicacy  ?  How  utterly  absurd  !" 

De  Koven  could  not  move  on  at  the  slow,  sauntering 
pace  with  which  they  were  strolling  along  the  shore.  He 
bounded  on  as  if  he  would  outwalk  the  wrath  that  stirred 
him,  then  stopped  abruptly,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  sea. 
folded  his  arms,  and  stood  erect  and  motionless,  as  Atherton 
replied  in  low,  sad  tones  : 

"I  thank  you  for  your  warmth  in  defence  of  one  so 
dear.  Think  not  with  me  it  was  needed.  But,  Clarence, 
bethink  you :  Ada  was  young  and  lovely  —  tenderly 
cherished — deeply,  devotedly  loved.  Like  your  warm  en- 
thusiastic faith  in  her  child,  was  my  implicit  faith  in  her. 
I  would  have  staked  my  life,  even  my  soul's  life,  on  her 
purity !  You  know  how  mistaken  was  that  trust." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  circumstances  are  so  different.  You  had 
been  brought  up  from  childhood  together ;  you  were  like 
brother  and  sister.  Perhaps  she  had  mistaken  the  charac- 
ter of  her  attachment  to  you,  and  there  was  so  much  in 
the  peculiar  position  in  which  she  stood  towards  Evelyn — 
so  much  to  attract  and  bind  her  to  him." 

"  I  have  looked  at  the  case  in  all  its  phases  ;  be  assured 
I  have  not  lost  sight  of  this.  I  do  see  that  Evelyn  is  one 
to  attract  and  rivet  love.  I  do  see  that  she  was  tempted 
beyond  her  strength.  I  do  see  all  the  excuse  the  circum- 
stances afford  her,  and  my  conscience  gives  her  the  benefit 
of  it.  Sin  against  their  self-love,  though,  De  Koven,  is 


SEA-SPEAT.  431 

the  one  men  are  of  all  others  least  ready  to  forgive.  All 
I  require  of  you  now  is,  that  for  your  own  sake  you  will 
take  time  to  consider ;  that  you  will  not  bind  yourself  by 
any  pledges  or  promises,  or  seek  to  win  any  from  Elien. 
Let  tins  painful  period  pass  with  as  little  added  excitement 
as  may  be.  Let  us  go  home,  and  if,  after  one  year  has 
elapsed,  your  feelings  are  not  changed,  then  come  to  us. 
You  have  my  unqualified  consent  to  win  Ellen,  if  you  can. 
Do  you  agree  to  this  ?" 

"  If  this  is  the  best  you  can  do  for  me,  I  must.  Does 
this  debar  me  from  pleading  my  own  cause  with  Ellen  ?" 

"  On  this  particular  subject  it  must,  of  course,  or  where 
would  be  the  use  of  all  my  wise  restrictions  ?  One  word 
to  her  would  involve  the  committal  from  which  it  is  my 
care  to  guard  you.  Leave  it  to  me.  I  give  you  my  word 
that  till  your  year  has  passed,  no  one,  with  my  knowledge, 
shall  come  between  you  and  my  daughter's  affections.  Be 
content  with  that.  I  think  you  may  be." 

De  Koven  acquiesced  with  the  best  grace  he  could  in  a 
restriction  by  no  means  pleasant ;  and  they  walked  on, 
taking  their  way  along  the  Beach  and  over  the  bridges, 
coming  into  the  street  from  a  point  opposite  the  one  by 
which  they  bad  left  it,  and  passing  with  saddened  hearts 
the  graves  by  the  side  of  which  they  had  witnessed  so 
much  suffering.  Stopping  to  inquire  after  Evelyn  and 
Ada,  they  found  Evelyn  refreshed  by  sleep  and  tranquil, 
but  unable  to  rise ;  and  Ada  weak  and  helpless,  but  clear 
in  intellect,  and  calm.  Atherton  stepped  softly  in,  and 
stood  by  the  side  of  her  couch,  with  a  mild  and  solemn  ex- 
pression on  his  pale,  broad  brow. 

Ada  lifted  her  languid  lids  as  his  step  drew  nigh,  and  her 
glance  met  his,  but  it  did  not  quail,  and  her  words  came 
low  and  sweet : 


432  SEA-SPKAY. 

"  Ernest,  dear,  kind,  forgiving  Ernest !  This  world  is 
fading  fast,  and  I  have  little  more  to  do  with  its.  sorrows 
or  its  joys.  I  would  nerve  my  heart  for  its  last  earihly 
trials.  I  would  meet  my  child,  Ernest,  and  I  would  look 
rny  last  on  Walter  Evelyn.  That  over,  I  have  nothing 
more  in  this  life  to  desire  or  dread.  May  I  look  once  on 
my  forsaken  child  ?  Will  she  forget  my  great  sin,  in  this 
my  dying  hour  ?  Will  she  bless  with  one  forgiving  look  a 
few  fleeting  moments  of  her  mother's  last  weary  hours  ?" 

"  Believe  me,  my  poor  Ada,  she  is  even  more  anxious  to 
come  to  you  than  you  are  that  she  should.  Can  you  be 
composed  if  I  bring  her  to  stay  with  you  ?  Can  you  bear 
the  agitation?" 

"  I  can  bear  anything  now,  Ernest.  Since  this  torment- 
ing secret  has  been  lifted  from  my  soul,  so  long  borne  down 
beneath  its  benumbing  pressure,  I  can  look  up,  and  forward  : 
up  to  Him  who  can  pity  and  pardon,  and  forward  to  the 
rest  that  redeeming  Love  has  purchased  and  prepared." 

Atherton  stood  a  few  moments,  silently  looking  on  the 
pale  and  sunken  face  once  so  dear;  but  he  gave  no  utter- 
ance to  the  thoughts  that  crowded  upon  him.  Ada  was 
exhausted,  her  eyes  closed  in  weariness,  and  she  said  no 
more. 

Alice  resumed  the  seat  she  had  vacated  on  Atherton's  en- 
trance, and  he  stepped  noiselessly  out.  De  Koven  came  down 
from  Evelyn's  room,  and  they  walked  away  together. 
Allen  kept  his  station  in  the  room  of  Evelyn  with  quiet 
and  gentle  watchfulness,  while  Evelyn  rested  and  reflected. 
Alice  kept  her  silent  watch  by  Ada,  who  had  again  fall- 
en into  calm  sleep.  The  deep  silence  which  reigned  in 
the  house  was  broken  by  a  sharp,  quick  tread  on  the  walk, 
and  Mrs.  Thorn  cantered  in,  with  her  everlasting  basket. 


SEA-SPEAY.  433 

Alice  quietly  laid  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door  open- 
ing into  the  room  in  which  Ada  was  sleeping,  and  after 
several  ineffectual  attempts  to  raise  it,  Mrs.  Thorn  turned 
and  made  her  way  by  another  route  to  the  kitchen.  Leena 
looked  up  as  she  entered,  with  a  gruff  "  Good  morning,  Mrs. 
Thorn,"  and  went  on  quietly  stoning  the  raisins  for  Dury's 
cake,  while  Dury  poked  and  punched  the  fire  in  the  oven 
with  alarming  accession  of  zeal. 

"You  might  save  your  credit  and  ask  me  to  take  off  my 
bonnet,  for  I'm  in  a  hurry,  and  I  should  not  stay  if  you 
did,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  flouncing  into  a  chair,  and  untying 
her  bonnet  with  a  jerk. 

"  I'll  ask  you,  then,  with  great  pleasure,  Mrs.  Thorn,  to 
take  off  your  bonnet  and  dine  with  us ;  we  shall  have  din- 
ner some  time  to-day,  I  can't  tell  when." 

"  I  can't  stay  —  Mr.  Thorn  has  come,  and  as  our  friends 
all  seem  to  be  so  much  taken  up  with  themselves  or  stran- 
gers," said  Mrs.  Thorn,  significantly,  "  we  shall  leave  in  a 
day  or  two.  I  think,  from  the  stories  I  hear,  folks  that  are  so 
'careful  to  entertain  strangers,' don't  always  catch  angels." 

"  I  cannot  dispute  your  words  on  that  subject,  Mrs. 
Thorn ;  for  you  bring  conviction  along  with  you.  I  have 
Scripture  warrant,  however,  for  believing  that  it  may  hap- 
pen sometimes." 

"  1  don't  know  but  you  will  make  them  welcome  ;  its 
more  than  you  do  for  all  your  visitors.  Well,  I  thought  I 
would  just  step  in  and  show  you  this ;"  and  Mrs.  Thorn 
took  from  her  basket  a  linen  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
carefully  unfolding  it,  displayed  one  or  two  breaks  in 
the  threads,  which  required  delicate  darning. 

"  There  —  I  must  say,  when  I  trust  my  clothes  to  be 
washed  where  I  am  visiting,  I  expect  to  have  them  more 


434:  SEA-SPRAY. 

carefully  looked  to.  Do  you  let  Dury  wring  your  clothes 
to  rags  in  this  way  ?" 

"  I  don't  hold  her  accountable  if  they  wear  out,"  said 
Leena,  laughing,  —  ''  that  would  be  hardly  fair  ;  but  I  am 
sorry  if  you  have  sustained  any  injury." 

"  It  is  no  great,  to  be  sure  ;  but  she  did  not  do  up  my 
things  well  at  all.  I  thought  I  would  tell  you.  I  always 
tell  folks  where  I  visit,  if  I  see  anything  wrong.  It's  a 
trait.  We  all  have  our  traits." 

"I'll  replace  your  handkerchief,  Mrs.  Thorn,  with  a  new 
one,  and  you  may  give  Dury  the  one  you  say  she  has  in- 
jured," said  Leena,  handing  Mrs.  Thorn  an  unhemmed 
handkerchief  from  her  work-basket. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  It  is  as  much  work  to  hem 
this  as  the  old  one  is  worth.  I  can  mend  it,  and  it  would 
not  be  of  much  use  to  Dury,"  said  Mrs.  Thorn,  quietly  put- 
ting  both  in  her  basket,  and  rising  as  she  did  so  to  take  her 
departure.  "  Well,  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  see  you 
again.  I  don't  expect  you  will  ever  be  coming  our  way." 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  Mrs.  Thorn.  I  have  relatives  in  your 
vicinity,"  said  Leena,  maliciously  seeking  to  alarm  the  vis- 
iting lady. 

"I  don't  know  if  I  shall  be  keeping  house  if  you  do," 
said  Mrs.  Thorn,  hastily.  "  We  spend  our  summers  visit- 
ing around  among  our  friends.  But  if  I  don't  come  here 
again,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you  in  heaven."  With 
this  cordial  invitation  never  to  return  her  visits,  Mrs.  Thorn 
took  her  leave  for  an  indefinite  period,  Dury  giving  vent  to 
her  indignation  as  she  closed  the  door,  by  saying,  "Oh 
Guh  !  wonder  eff  Miss  Thorn's  got  a  through  ticket  ?  See 
you  in  heaven  !  aint  that  mighty  ?"  Again  the  house  was 
wrapped  in  silence,  and  hours  stole  quietly  away.  Evelyn 


SEA-SPRAY.  435 

musing  silently  on  his  bed,  or  talking  at  intervals  in  mel- 
ancholy tones  with  Allen,  of  Ernest ;  of  all  his  loving  talk, 
and  gentle,  winning  truthfulness  of  heart.  Ada  had  been 
sleeping  tranquilly,  waking  at  times,  and  turning  a  languid 
look  on  Alice,  then  sinking  again  quietly  to  rest. 

The  afternoon  was  drawing  to  a  close.  Ada  began  to 
grow  restless,  and  at  times  a  little  wandering;  listening 
to  every  sound,  but  not  impatiently.  The  nervous  irrita- 
bility of  temper,  which  she  had  so  long  exhibited,  had  all 
vanished.  Patiently,  uncomplainingly,  she  waited  to  be 
summoned  to  her  rest.  The  feverish  flush  was  again  com- 
ing over  her,  when  Atherton  returned,  and  with  him,  his 
pale,  trembling  daughter. 

Ada  heard  his  step,  and  her  heart  beat  quick  and  chok- 
ingly. u  Mother,"  said  a  soft,  sweet,  tremulous  voice.  A 
fair  form  knelt  by  her  bed-side,  and  a  lovely  face,  with 
tearful  eyes,  bent  over  her.  Ada  gasped  and  panted. 
"  Mother,  dear  mother,  let  me  stay  by  you  now  ;  let  me 
never  leave  you,  nor  forsake  you ;  let  me  watch,  and  tend, 
and  cheer,  and  comfort  you." 

There  was  no  need  of  an  answer;  but  Ada  twined  her 
arms  around  the  neck  of  her  child,  and  hid  her  face, 
writhing  with  shame  and  anguish,  among  her  clustering 
locks,  sobbing  at  length  faintly  and  brokenly, — 

"  Ellen,  my  daughter,  can  you  forgive  me  ?  My  own 
deserted  darling,  can  you  come  with  gentle,  loving  words 
to  soothe  my  parting  hours  ?" 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  my  place  beside  you.  Be  at 
peace,  dear  mother,  we  will  part  no  more." 

Ada  sunk  back  upon  her  pillow,  with  Ellen's  hand 
clasped  in  hers,  and  again  deep  sleep  stole  over  her. 

"  I  fear,  my  child,"  said  Atherton,  bending  down  to  listen 


436  SEA-SPEAY. 

to  her  faint,  low  breathing,  — £<I  fear  this  agitation  has  been 
too  great  for  her.     This  sleep  is  deep  and  heavy." 

He  turned  to  Col.  Hesselten,  who  had  entered,  and  was 
standing  silently  by  the  bed-side : 

"  She  will  probably  rally  after  a  long,  deep  sleep,  but  not 
many  times.  She  may  linger  some  days  —  not  many. 
She  has  been  very  frail  a  long  time.  I  have  expected 
this." 

Ellen  sat  down  to  her  first  watch  beside  her  new-found 
mother,  and  Atherton  went  to  the  apartment  in  which 
Evelyn  was  making  his  constrained  abode. 

The  meeting  of  these  two  men,  so  singularly  situated 
with  regard  to  each  other,  could  not  be  otherwise  than  an 
awkward  one.  Evelyn  knew  that,  however  involuntarily 
on  his  part,  he  had,  nevertheless,  come  a  blighting  shadow 
between  Atherton  and  his  domestic  happiness.  He  felt 
this  painfully,  and  his  tone  and  manner  were  hesitating  and 
embarrassed. 

"  This  is  very  kind,"  said  he,  coloring  deeply,  in  reply  to 
Atherlon's  cordial  expressions  of  interest  and  regret,  as  he 
inquired  after  his  health — "  this  generous  forgetfulness  of 
the  part  I  have  played  in  this  strange  real  life  drama.  I 
cannot  divest  myself  of  the  feeling  that  I  have  been  (God 
knows  how  unwittingly)  the  bane  of  your  earthly  peace. 
I  feel  this,  as  I  know  it  cannot  but  appear  to  you  and  to 
others.  And  yet,"  said  he,  with  a  flashing  eye,  and  a  proud, 
lofty  tone,  "  I  can  make  no  humiliating  concessions.  I  can- 
not apologize  for  a  wrong  not  intentionally  inflicted." 

"I  come  with  no  accusations  in  my  heart  against  you. 
I  have  fully  and  freely  acquitted  you.  I  regret  that  you 
should  feel  it  otherwise.  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  not 
weighed  it  in  all  its  bearings.  It  was  natural  that  grieved 


SEA-SPRAY.  437 

affection  and  wounded  self-love  (call  it  mortified  personal 
vanity  if  you  will)  should  seek  balm  for  their  own  smarting 
ills.  It  was  natural  that  love  for  the  erring  object  of  so 
much  woe  and  sorrow  should  seek  excuses  for  her  by  vis- 
iting censure  upon  you.  I  did  look  carefully  for  truth,  but 
her  own  undeviating  testimony,  and  De  Koven's,  corrob- 
orate your  statements.  I  could  not  doubt  you  if  I  would. 
I  have  no  wish  to  do  so.  Besides,  why  should  we  doubt 
the  directing  hand  of  a  Higher  Power  in  all  this?  But 
for  the  generous  impulse  of  compassion,  which  prompted 
you  to  risk  your  life  for  hers,  you  had  both  been  lost.  It 
is  not  for  me  to  judge  ;  but  I  would  ask,  have  not  these  fif- 
teen years  been  worth  the  price  ?  Admitting  that  here 
they  ended,  have  not  their  joys  more  than  counterbalanced 
their  sorrows  ?" 

''In  the  blessed  memory  of  my  children,  yes.  I  would 
not  have  their  cherished  remembrance  blotted  from  my 
heart,  and  their  loved  images  replaced  by  others,  for  any 
form  of  joy  that  earth  could  offer.  To  have  owned  and 
lost  them,  is  more  of  blessedness  than  life  could  have 
brought  without  them.  And  for  the  dim,  lonely  future,  its 
path  will  be  less  wearisome,  with  these  pure  spirits  beck- 
oning at  its  end." 

Evelyn  ended  by  extending  his  hand  to  Atherton,  who 
rose  to  take  his  leave,  as  Mr.  Alden  entered  with  De 
Koven. 

After  some  interchange  of  kind  inquiries,  Mr.  Alden 
addressed  himself  to  Evelyn,  with  a  tinge  of  sadness  in 
his  pleasant,  earnest  tones:  "I  have  brought  our  young 
friend  here,  because  I  know  your  testimony  has  great 
weight  with  him,  that  you  may  help  me  to  combat  some 
of  his  fallacious,  speculative  theories." 


438  SEA -SPRAY. 

"  What  is  it,  De  Koven  ?  Come,  I  can't  have  you  going 
wrong,  now  that  I  have  committed  myself  to  your  guid- 
ance. What's  wrong  in  your  theological  premises  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  can't  exactly  agree  in  our  views  of  poor  human 
nature.  I  think  Mr.  Alden  insists  too  strongly  upon  the 
utter  depravity  of  the  heart.  I  insist  there  is  much  of 
beauty,  perchance,  as  he  says,  a  little  too  much  of  boldness , 
in  the  proposition  sometimes  advanced,  that  there  is  im- 
planted in  every  heart  an  inextinguishable  spark  of  Divine 
energy,  emanating  from  God  when  he  '  breathed  into 
man's  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,'  giving  intellect,  intelli- 
gence and  animation  to  the  inert  matter  he  had  moulded 
in  his  own  image,  and  making  man  a  'living  soul.'" 

"  Ah !  but  De  Koven,"  replied  Evelyn,  kindly,  "  who 
that  looks  carefully  to  the  thoughts  and  imaginations  of 
his  own  heart,  is  not  constrained  to  acknowledge  that  they 
are  only  '  evil,  and  that  continually  ?'  " 

"Nevertheless,  there  is  beauty  and  grandeur  in  the 
thought  that  with  our  natures  (sinful  and  degraded,  if  you 
will  please  yourself  with  thinking  so)  there  is  combined 
a  portion  of  the  '  divine  essence  uncreate;'  a  spark,  which 
may  be  fanned  to  bright  and  enduring  flame  by  the  purify- 
ing spirit  of  prayer  ;  by  the  cultivation  and  exercise  of  those 
holy  and  hallowing  emotions,  which  flow  from,  and  are 
strengthened  by,  close  and  constant  communings  with 
God ;  by  lifting  our  thoughts  and  our  aspirations  above 
the  perishing  beauties  of  earth  and  its  fading  adornments, 
and  offering  to  our  Maker  that  pureundefiled  religion  of  the 
heart,  which  looks  up  to  him  in  silence  and  in  solitary 
places.  *  I  feel  that  this  is  worth  all  the  doctrines,  and  dog- 
mas, and  antagonistical  opinions  which  divines  dignify 
with  the  epithet '  religion.'  " 


SEA-SPRAY.  439 

"  Dear  Clarence,  I  admit  the  truth  of  all  this,  provided 
you  are  not  doing  it  on  your  own  strength ;  purifying  your 
heart  by  its  own  unaided  efforts,  forgetting  that  '  the  heart 
is  deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked.' 
'  Not  by  might,  nor  by  power  ;  but  by  my  spirit,  saith  the 
Lord.' " 

"  You  are  hardly  fair  with  me,"  said  De  Koven,  good- 
humoredly,  "  taking  the  wind  out  of  my  sails,  by  shooting 
alongside  in  this  way  with  a  text  of  scripture;  for  you  know 
very  well,  that  I  should  make  but  poor  headway  sailing  on 
that  tack." 

"  I  find  it  is  a  hard  matter  to  make  our  friend,  the  cap- 
tain, admit  natural  inborn  inclinings  to  evil,"  said  Mr. 
Alden,  pleasantly.  "  It  is  not  so  much  to  be  wondered  at 
in  him  ;  for  I  am  satisfied  that,  in  his  own  case,  he  has  had 
little  experimental  knowledge  of  the  verity  of  it.  It  is 
sometimes  too  charitable  judgment,  when  we  judge  others 
by  ourselves.  I  hope,  as  he  jotfrneys  along  through  life,  he 
will  not  have  too  severe  teachings  to  lead  him  to  that  con- 
viction." 

After  a  little  further  chat  the  gentlemen  took  their  leave 
— Mr.  Alden  with  many  kind  expressions,  and  offers  of  at- 
tendance, and  De  Koven  with  the  promise  of  returning  to 
continue  through  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LEFT  alone  and  listless  on  his  bed,  Evelyn  directed  his 
thoughts  from  self  and  sorrowful  associations,  by  pondering 
the  subject  which  De  Koven  had  discussed  with  so  much 
spirit  and  feeling. 

He  knew  that  his  friend  clung  to  his  favorite  idea  of  in- 
tellectual  and  poetical  religion,  to  the  rejection  of  the  hum- 
ble and  self-debasing  teachings  of  the  Gospel,  and  that  he 
was  restless  and  unsatisfied  under  its  influence. 

To  the  believer  in  human  parfectability,  the  ambitious 
advocate  and  asserter  of  the  supremacy  of  mind,  the  vision- 
ary and  egotistical  aspirant  after  self-attained  immortality, 
there  is  much  of  sublimity  and  poetical  beauty  in  the  theo- 
ries of  heathen  philosophy;  much  that  is  flattering  and  se- 
ductive in  the  dazzling  systems  of  more  modern  reasoners. 
Men  of  high  and  splendid  powers  of  intellect,  of  noble 
and  enthusiastic  spirit,  have  been  misled  by  the  specious- 
ness  of  that  system  of  ethics,  which  proclaims  the  innate 
dignity  and  moral  grandeur  of  man,  and  spurns  indignantly 
the  humiliating  idea  of  original,  inborn,  uncleanness  of  heart. 
The  cool,  calculating,  conscientious  moralist  and  utilita- 
rian sees  expediency  in  the  doctrine  which  inculcates  good 
will  towards  man  ;  and  while  he  practices  all  the  charities 
and  refined  courtesies  of  life  among  his  fellow  creatures, 


SEA-SPRAY.  441 

indulges  the  pride  and  deceitfulness  of  his  heart,  by  with- 
holding its  homage  from  God.  Alas,  for  such  baseless 
structures !  splendid  and  fallacious  fables  of  man's  inven- 
tion !  How  they  totter  before  the  force  and  simplicity  of 
Gospel  truth,  and  prove  the  speciousness  of  the  human 
heart,  which  seeks  in  its  indomitable  and  "self-adoring 
pride,"  to  exalt  and  deify  itself,  boasting  its  dignity,  its 
beauty,  its  holiness,  its  almost  divinity,  and  verifying  by 
its  vain  and  presumptuous  reliance  on  its  own  powers,  the 
truth  of  that  holy  assertion,  "  Behold,  ye  trust  in  lying 
words,  that  cannot  profit." 

Evelyn  folded  his  hands  over  his  aching  brow,  and  his 
thoughts  wandered  away  from  this  unsatisfactory  theme 
to  the  scenes  and  events  of  his  past  life,  tracing  the  way 
by  which  he  had  been  led,  till  it  was  all  rounded  down  to 
one  point,  where  his  thoughts  paused  and  lingered.  This 
was  the  summing  up: — two  little  graves,  in  the  simple,  ob- 
scure village  of  Sea-spray  !  Here,  in  this  remote,  unnoted 
corner  of  this  wide  waste  world,  he  had  laid  at  rest,  forever, 
the  objects  of  hope  and  happiness  for  this  life.  Hence,  he 
should  go  out  on  his  lonely  pilgrimage,  not  seeking  plea- 
sure, but  avoiding  sin.  Even  the  sad  indulgence  of  lin- 
gering near  those  buried  treasures  was  forbidden  him. 
That  pleasant  home  in  Sea-spray  was  never  to  brighten  or 
bloom  for  him.  Foiled,  frustrated  in  everything — banished 
even  from  the  graves  round  which  his  heart  lingered — he 
had  been  more  or  less  than  man  had  he  forborne  to  mourn. 
He  did  mourn,  in  his  loneliness,  the  concentrated  bitterness 
of  a  lot  so  dreary  !  He  heard  the  moaning  voice  of  Ada 
in  the  room  beneath  him,  and  he  covered  his  head  that  his 
ears  should  not  drink  in  those  forbidden  sounds.  He 
would  not  listen  to  his  heart  when  it  askej,  "  Did  she  think 

19 


442  SEA-SPRAY. 

of  him  ?"  He  prayed  God  to  silence  its  traitorous  voice, 
when  it  prompted  him  to  go  to  her,  to  bend  over  her,  with 
the  old-time  loving  look,  and  to  comfort  her  with  the  old- 
time  loving  words.  But  he  could  not  shut  out  the  tones 
of  her  voice ;  for,  as  night  drew  on,  her  thoughts  were 
wandering  and  her  words  were  wild. 

In  her  bewildered  dreamings  her  cry  was  for  "  Walter," 
and  "  Edith,"  and  "  Ernest ;"  and  Ellen  was  an  unknown 
and  unheeded  stranger  by  her  side. 

"This  will  be  too  painful  a  position  for  Miss  Atherton," 
remarked  Dr.  Hesselten  (who  was  watching  his  patient) 
to  Mr.  Atherton.  "  She  will  be  better  at  the  hotel  with 
you.  There  are  kind  ladies  enough  in  the  neighborhood 
who  will  cheerfully  render  all  needed  attendance.  In  the 
present  unconscious  state  of  our  friend,  your  daughter's 
situation  among  entire  strangers,  however  kind  they  may 
be,  cannot  be  otherwise  than  distressing." 

Ellen  somewhat  reluctantly  acquiesced  in  the  suggestion, 
and  left  with  her  father,  resigning  her  post  at  her  mother's 
bed-side  to  more  practised  and  efficient  occupants.  De 
Koven  took  his  station  in  Evelyn's  room,  to  relieve  Allen, 
and  beguile  the  loneliness  of  the  wearisome  night-watchers. 

Thus  day  glided  after  day,  and  under  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate tenderness  Evelyn  gradually  mended,  and  Ada  as 
gradually  declined.  So  the  union  brought  about  by  suffer- 
ing, sorrow  and  sin,  suffering,  sorrow  and  separation,  drew 
nigh  to  dissolve. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"So  you  are  off  this  afternoon,  De  Koven  ?"  remarked 
Hardy,  one  day,  as  they  sat  at  dinner. 

"  I  am,"  replied  De  Koven.  "And  truly,  Hardy,  my 
dear  friend,  I  do  regret  sincerely  this  parting  with  you. 
I  shall  not  soon  find  your  fellow,  I  fear,  for  frank  kind- 
heartedness,  and  up  and  down,  fearless,  independent  hon- 
esty." 

"Much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Hardy,  actually  blushing. 
"  You  are  very  complimentary." 

"  On  my  soul,  Hardy,  I  feel  all  I  say." 

"  Very  well,  let  it  go  at  that.  So  far  as  my  intentions 
go,  I  am  entitled  to  it.  I  endeavor  to  do  my  duty  faithfully 
in  all  my  official  transactions.  If  my  employers  are  satis- 
fied, I  am." 

"  I  suspect,  Captain,"  said  Mrs.  Godrick,  gaily,  "  you 
will  not  insist  upon  Hardy's  taking  possession  in  the  name 
of  the  state,  as  you  proposed  last  winter  ?  I  am  very  much 
inclined  to  the  belief,  that  you  will  prefer  being  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  finder." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Godrick,  why  do  you  come  to  that  conclu- 
sion ?"  said  De  Koven,  coloring  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  assure  you,  I  could  give  a  very  cogent  reason  for  my 


444  SEA-SPRAY. 

belief.  Acknowledge  now,  that  you  have  lost  the  wish  to 
be  cast  into  the  public  coffers." 

"  You  are  about  right,  Mrs.  Godrick,"  said  De  Koven, 
laughing.  "  It  is  too  late.  The  satchel  strings  were  drawn 
over  my  head  at  Niagara.  But,  as  I  was  not  picked  up  in 
Hardy's  district,  his  official  honor  is  clear  of  impeachment." 

"Ah,  I  was  very  confident  that  pretty  little  affair  would 
come  off  before  you  were  many  years  older,"  replied  Mrs. 
Godrick,  with  a  clear,  ringing  laugh,  such  as  one's  heart 
feels  lighter  for  listening  to.  "  But,  really,  I  very  much 
regret  that  you  are  to  leave  our  village  so  soon.  You  have 
been  so  much  confined  with  your  friends,  that  you  have 
not  half  taken  the  sense  of  its  beauties.  You  must  just 
come  down  and  look  at  us  again." 

"  I  hardly  dare  look  forward  to  another  visit  to  Sea- 
spray,"  said  De  Koven,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  fear  I  shall  be 
considered  a  bird  of  ill  omen:  for  in  both  instances  I 
have  been  attended  by  death." 

"  Don't  believe  that  thing  at  all,"  replied  Mrs.  Godrick. 
"  "We  shall  be  perfectly  delighted  to  see  you,  and  that  sweet, 
pretty  Mrs.  De  —  elect." 

"  We  shall  see  what  time  will  bring,"  said  De  Koven, 
rising  ;  and,  preparing  their  cigars,  he  and  Hardy  strolled 
out  for  a  last  friendly  chat,  and  a  quiet  whiff  in  the  orchard. 
Then,  after  brief  cordial  adieus  to  Hardy  and  his  house- 
hold, De  Koven  joined  Evelyn  to  accompany  him  from 
Sea-spray,  and  all  that  it  held  in  sacred  keeping. 

Evelyn  had  nearly  regained  his  ordinary  health,  and  he 
came  down  equipped  for  travel,  leaning  on  De  Koven's 
arm,  emaciated,  pale  and  changed.  His  arrangements  had 
all  been  settled  in  his  room,  with  his  kind  friends  Col.  Hes- 
selten  and  Mr.  Alden ;  and  nothing  remained  for  him  to  do 
but  nerve  his  heart  for  parting. 


SEA-SPRAT.  445 

Ellen  was  sitting  by  Ada's  bed-side  keeping  her  silent 
watch,  while  Ada  lay  in  a  dozing,  dreaming  unconscious- 
ness :  attending  when  spoken  to,  but  noticing  little  that  was 
passing  around  her.  Ellen  had  fallen  on  her  knees  by  the 
bed-side,  and  was  gently  smoothing  and  parting  the  soft 
silken  tresses  over  the  pallid  brow,  when  De  Koven  en- 
tered to  speak  a  few  parting  words  to  Ada.  He,  also,  sank 
on  his  knees,  and  taking  the  small  hand  in  his,  spoke  soft 
and  clear : 

"Ada,  I'm  going.  Will  you  not  look  up  and  bid  me 
good-bye  ?" 

<— '  •/ 

Ada  looked  up.  At  that  moment  Atherton  stepped  up, 
behind  them,  and  spread  his  hands  in  silent  benediction 
over  the  heads  of  the  kneeling  pair.  Ada  saw  and  com- 
prehended the  action.  A  gleam  of  joy  lighted  up  those 
large,  loving  eyes,  whose  lustrous  beauty  sickness  and  sor- 
row could  not  wholly  dim. 

Atherton  led  Ellen  away,  for  a  more  painful  sundering  of 
long-knit  ties  was  at  hand.  Then  Ada  spoke  : 

"  Clarence  De  Koven !  with  the  mother's  example  before 
your  eyes,  have  you  dared  to  love  the  child  ?" 

"  I  have,  dear  Ada,  why  should  I  not  ?" 

"  And  remembering  that  example,  will  you  cherish,  and 
love,  and  watch,  and  save  her  from  an  hour  like  this  ?" 

"With  all  the  powers  God  has  given  me,  trust  me,  I  will." 

"Farewell,  then,  forever,  dear  Clarence.  The  blessing 
of  a  broken  heart  be  upon  you.  Guard  her,  watch  her, 
protect  her  from  herself  and  her  own  heart.  Farewell !" 

Clarence  clasped  for  a  moment  the  thin  hand  in  his,  then 
left  the  room,  and  Ada  was  alone..  But  another  form  drew 
nigh,  and  her  heart  told  her  who. 

"  Ada,"  said  that  deep,  full  voice—"  Ada  !" 


446  SEA-SPRAY. 

The  dreamy  eyes  looked  up,  full  of  deep,  deathless  love 
to  his. 

"  Ada,  my  poor  stricken  one,  I  could  gladly  watch  by, 
and  weep  over  and  cherish  you,  with  a  love  as  pure  and 
passionless  as  I  gave  to  our  dying  child.  But  the  still, 
small  voice  within  me,  speaking  sternly  to  my  sense  of 
right,  tells  me  it  may  not  be." 

"  Now  as  ever,  dear,  blessed,  generous  Walter,  noble, 
good  and  true.  Go!  I  know  it  is  right.  I  feel  it  is  best. 
My  last  breath  shall  bless  you.  Walter,  dear  Walter, 
God,  even  your  own  God,  bless  and  comfort  you." 

Laying  his  cold,  trembling  hand  on  her  brow,  he  breathed 
one  short,  silent,  agonized  supplication  over  her,  then  turned 
away;  and  Evelyn  and  Ada  had  parted  forever.  The  last 
drop  of  anguish  in  the  bitter  cup  of  his  household  over- 
throw was  quaffed.  With  a  gush  of  tears,  as  he  bent  his 
face  to  the  soft  locks  of  Allen,  and  a  silent  grasp  of  the 
hand  to  all,  the  parting  passed,  and  Walter  Evelyn  was  gone. 


A  few  more  fleeting  days,  and  the  frail,  sinning,  sorrow- 
ing Ada,  the  beloved  of  so  many  hearts,  lifted  once  more 
the  heavy  lids  from  those  deep,  dark,  loving  eyes,  and  cast 
around  one  earnest,  lingering,  fond,  farewell  gaze,  on  faces 
and  forms  so  anxiously  bending  over  he* ;  then  smilingly 
closed  them  in  their  last,  long  slumber. 

Life's  bewildering  dream  was  over.  The  sin  that  had 
shadowed,  the  sorrow  that  had  smitten,  the  deep,  passion- 
ate love  that  had  betrayed,  and  the  penitence  that  had 
purified,  and  brought  peace  and  pardon  to  that  parted  soul, 
were  over  now,  and  ended.  Atherton  bent  over  her  as 


SEA-SPRAT.  447 

she  lay  in  her  cold  and  silent  loveliness,  redeemed  from  all 
her  errors,  and  restored  to  her  legitimate  resting-place  in 
his  affections  by  the  sanctifying  touch  of  death.  The 
frowning  barrier,  which  human  frailty  had  raised  between 
them,  death  had  thrown  down,  and  he  remembered  only  her 
young  years  of  unsullied  purity,  and  his  trusting,  early  love. 
"  It  is  right  and  best  as  it  is,  Ellen.  Who  but  God  could 
have  so  ordered  and  directed  our  steps,  to  stand  by  her  dy- 
ing pillow,  and  soothe  her  dying  hours  ?  It  is  all  ordained 
in  wisdom,  that  she  should  go  to  her  rest  here  and  now. 
Here,  that  she  may  be  gathered  to  the  same  bed,  beneath 
the  same  sod,  with  her  children,  now,  while  we  could  be 
with  her.  It  would  have  been  cruel  to  have  left  her  linger- 
ing here  alone.  The  duties  which  bind  me  to  my  people 
would  have  called  me  away,  and  we  could  not  have  taken 
her  with  us.  I  bless  God,  it  is  as  it  is." 

Another  grave  was  opened  on  that  sunny-side  hill. 
Again,  over  sweet,  fading  Sea-spray  rung  out  that  solemn 
old  bell.  Again  on  the  still  evening  air  rose  the  blessed 
words,  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life;"  and  Ada  slept 
in  her  narrow  bed,  beside  those  little  graves,  and  the  ocean 
wave  moaned  on,  and  the  sleepers  did  not  heed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

•  THERE  was  nothing  now  to  detain  Atherton  and  Ellen, 
and  they  left,  carrying  with  them  lessons  of  wisdom  and 
chastening  remembrances ;  making  their  hearts  heavier 
and  holier,  and  teaching  them  charity  and  forgiving  gen- 
tleness towards  all  who  have  erred  and  gone  astray. 

A  few  days  after  their  departure  came  letters  from  Eve- 
lyn, and  a  package  for  Allen,  containing  a  handsome  Bible 
and  Prayer  Book,  and  an  affectionate  letter,  in  which  he 
said  in  closing: 

"  Lundy  has  sailed  in  command  of  the  Orphan,  for  Liver- 
pool ;  and  Clarence  and  I  have  taken  passage  in  a  steamer 
which  leaves  the  fifteenth.  I  have  buried  my  heart  in  Sea- 
spray,  and  to  you,  dear  Allen,  I  delegate  the  charge  of  those 
sacred  graves.  Visit  them  often  for  me,  and  let  nothing 
evil  or  defiling  come  nigh  them.  It  will  not  be  long  before 
I  come  back ;  for  where  my  treasures  are  there  will  my 
heart  be,  and  there  would  I  be  also.  Let  me  hear  from 
you,  Allen,  before  I  leave." 

EVELYN    TO    ALLEN. 

THINK  of  him  sometimes,  when  at  silent  eve 
Thou  restest  from  thy  labors,  and  thy  sports 
Seem  weary  and  distateful ;  when  the  hum 
Of  busy  day  is  ended  ;  when  the  birds 


SKA-SPRAT.  449 

Have  folded  their  bright  wings,  and  the  sweet  flowers 

Have  closed  their  dewy  eyelids  ;  when  the  earth 

Is  sleeping  in  the  dreamy,  drowsy  light 

Of  night's  unwearied  watchers,  God's  pure  stars. 

When  thy  soul  saddens  in  the  holy  hush, 

And  solemn  thoughts  come  o'er  thee,  let  him  claim 

Remembrance  in  thy  musings,  and  a  shrine 

Within  the  inner  chambers  of  thy  heart, 

Where,  in  thy  young  affections,  he  may  hold 

A  place,  perfumed  and  hallowed  by  his  presence. 

Think  of  him  sometimes  —  not  with  grief  and  gloom, 

But  fondly  —  with  deep  feeling  ;  for  he  loved 

All  sweet,  and  innocent,  and  gentle  things, 

All  that  was  pure  and  beautiful.     The  birds, 

The  buds,  the  blossoms,  the  green,  grassy  knolls, 

The  fields,  the  lone  lanes,  the  deep,  leafy  dells, 

And  the  wild  way-side  flowers,  the  stars, 

The  sunset  clouds,  the  scented  summer  showers, 

The  dashing  billow  moaning  on  the  shore, 

The  moon-light  sleeping  on  the  dewy  sod, 

The  rainbow,  and  the  solemn  meteor  lights 

That  gleam  in  the  far  north. 

To  him 

All  suffering,  helpless,  and  weak  things  were  dear. 
The  wearied  lambs,  lost  fledglings  from  the  nest, 
The  wounded  and  forsaken,  in  their  need, 
Found  shield  and  succor  from  his  gentle  hand, 
Pity  and  love  from  his  young  guil  'less  heart, 
Which  melted  ever  at  the  pleading  tone, 
Or  tremulous,  low  accent  of  the  sad, 
While  answering  moisture  trembled  on  his  lids, 
Whene'er  a  sorrowing  or  tearful  eye 
Lifted  its  mute,  appealing  glance  to  his. 

Not  when  thy  mood  is  mirthful,  and  gay  speech, 
Provoking  laughter  from  thy  merry  mates, 
Rings  on  thy  lips  :    Oh,  not  when  noisy  jests, 
And  bursts  of  merriment,  and  song,  and  glee, 
And  trials  of  rude  strength,  amuse  the  hour: 
19* 


450  SEA-SPRAY. 

Not  then,  not  there,  be  uttered  his  loved  name, 
Nor  mingled  with  ungentle  play-ground  sports 
Be  heartless  or  unguarded  speech  of  him. 

But  when  thou  art  world-weary,  and  thy  thoughts 
Turn  sadly  to  the  past ;  when  buried  dreams 
Are  stirring  the  deep  fountains  of  thy  heart, 
Waking  its  slumbering  sorrows  ;  when  subdued 
And  chastened  feeling  sobers  thy  young  brow — 
Then  think  of  him,  who,  in  his  stainless  bloom, 
Closed  his  blue  eyes  at  evening,  and  in  peace, 
Folding  his  little  hands  in  patient  trust, 
Died,  murmuring,  "  Our  Father."     Then,  if  tears 
Spring  to  thine  eyes  unbidden,  for  his  sake, 
Bethink  thee  that  thy  blessed  Saviour  wept, 
And  that  thy  tears  are  sinless  —  let  them  flow. 


It  was  sad,  dull  times  for  Allen.  But  he  gave  due  heed 
to  the  request  of  his  friend,  and  made  frequent  little  pil- 
grimages to  what  he  considered  Holy  Land.  At  length  it 
was  November ;  and  recollecting  what  he  had  heard  Eve- 
lyn and  Ada  tell  of  the  beautiful  scenes  they  had  witnessed 
two  years  before  iu  New-Orleans,  he  gathered  a  variety  of 
rich  autumnal  flowers,  and  took  them  with  him  to  decorate 
the  graves  of  the  friends  he  had  so  dearly  loved. 

Sitting  down,  on  his  return,  he  wrote  a  short,  child's 
letter  to  Evelyn,  with  the  thoughts  his  occupation  had 
awakened,  simply  woven  into  verse  : 

ALL-SAINTS' DAY,   SEA-SPRAY,  NOVEMBER  FIRST. 

Oh,  ne'er  went  pilgrim  saint  to  lay 

Gifts  on  a  holier  shrine, 
Than  that  which  weeping  love  to-day 

pomes  forth  with  flowers  to  twine  ; 


SEA-SPRAT.  451 

Bringing  bright  blossoms,  bud  and  wreath, 

To  deck  the  sacred  mould, — 
Sweet  types  of  those  who  sleep  beneath, 

In  stainless  beauty  cold. 

Come  not  unto  the  hallowed  spot, 

Where  the  shrouded  sleepers  rest, 
When  one  unholy,  murmuring  thought, 

Is  warring  within  thy  breast ; 
But  come  when  thy  life  looks  dim, 

When  tears  to  thine  eyelids  swell, 
Looking  in  trembling  trust  to  Him, 

Who  hath  ordered  all  things  well. 

Come,  when  the  rosy  flush 

Tinges  the  waves  with  light, 
As  morning  springs,  with  a  mantling  blush, 

From  the  dewy  couch  of  night. 
Come,  when  the  hymn  of  the  early  bird, 

Floats  meadow  and  moor  along  ; 
When  the  soul  of  the  insect  world  is  stirred 

To  pour  out  its  joy  in  song. 

Come  to  the  loved  one's  grave, 

When  the  stars  are  on  the  sea  ; 
When  evening's  balmy  dew  drops  lave, 

Grey  hedge  and  grassy  lea  ; 
When  the  soaring  trill,  when  the  low,  sweet  note, 

Of  the  winged  choir  is  hushed  ; 
And  the  carol  sleeps  in  the  silvery  throat 

Whence  those  flute-like  warblings  gushed. 

Come,  when  the  wave  is  still, 

That  moaned  along  the  shore, 
When  the  breezes,  fainting  on  the  hill, 

Lift  their  light  wings  no  more. 
Come,  when  the  glow  of  the  sun-set  hour, 

Lies  red  on  roof  and  tree, 
Lighting  the  panes  in  the  old  church  tower, 

With  a  glorious  radiancy. 


452  SEA-SPRAT. 


Come,  though  it  wearies  thee  here  to  wait, 

And  weep,  when  thine  idols  die, 
Pining  to  pass  through  the  grave's  green  gate, 

To  their  beautiful  homes  on  high ; 
Yet,  come  to  the  hallowed  spot, 

Where  the  bright-browed  sleepers  lie, — 
Perchance,  though  thou  seest  them  not, " 

They  are  bending  in  beauty  nigh. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

NOVEMBER  has  come,  chill  and  cold,  and  "election"  has 
come  in  her  train.  Election — that  glorious  one  day  in 
the  year,  when  all  men  are  equal,  and  every  man  a  king ; 
when  the  sovereign  people  arise  in  the  might  and  the  ma- 
jesty of  their  manhood,  those  "  setters  up,  and  pullers 
down  "  of  Presidents,  to  lift  their  omnipotent  voices  through 
that  little  chink  in  the  ballot-box,  and  decide  who,  for  the 
next  four  years,  shall  preside  over  the  destinies  of  this 
mighty  republic.  Truly,  it  would  be'a  magnificent  affair, 
if  one  could  stand  afar  off  on  the  mountain  top,  and  listen 
to  the  concentrated  voice  of  these  myriads  of  freemen,  as 
it  comes  up  from  the  mighty  mass,  rolling  and  thundering 
along  the  courses  of  rivers,  gathering  power  and  volume 
in  its  course  over  cultured  plains,  and  through  fertile  val- 
leys, ringing  and  swelling  over  lakes,  prairies,  and  pri- 
meval forests,  booming  and  reverberating  among  green 
hills  and  granite  mountains — borne  upon  the  mist  from 
sterile  beaches  and  sandy  ocean  shores,  and  coming  up 
over  all  obstructions,  in  one  tremendous,  triumphant,  deaf- 
ening peal.  But  bring  it  down  to  the  little  sectional,  vil- 
lage poll  reality  ;  just  stand  behind  the  "  Town  House  " 
door,  and  look  through  the  crack,  and  it  dwindles  to 
quite  a  little  "  sucking-dove "  concern.  Man  in  the  ab- 
stract, and  man  in  the  mighty  aggregate,  assume  very 


454  SEA-SPRAY. 

different  phases,  and  the  voice  of  the  "  sovereign " 
sounds  very  different  when  close  to  the  ear,  from  the 
sublime  chorus  which  ascends  to  the  wrapt  imaginary 
listener  on  the  mountain  top.  Nevertheless,  death  and 
the  ballot-box  are  mighty  and  merciless  levelers  ;  and 
when  the  grave  or  the  poll  opens,  men  meet  as  equals. 
That  little  bit  of  paper,  held  so  daintily  in  the  jeweled  fin- 
gers of  the  lordly  inheritor  of  broad  acres  and  bright  eagles, 
will  count  no  more  on  the  great  day  when  the  inspectors 
shall  make  up  their  canvass,  than  the  soiled  and  crumpled 
scrap  clutched  in  the  grey,  horny  fist  of  his  sable  fellow- 
elector  and  compeer. 

It  was  a  dismal,  rainy  day,  that  last  election  day  now 
under  consideration,  and  Leena  and  Alice  had  ensconced 
themselves  by  Dury's  comfortable  kitchen  fire,  when  a 
clumsy  step  was  heard  in  the  outer  kitchen,  and  good,  old 
Lester  Bennet  made  his  entrance,  wet  and  cold  : 

"  Good  day — good  day  tew  ye — how  d'ye  dew  ?  Kin 
ye  let  the  ole  critter  kinder  thaw  out  his  trotters  'long  side 
o'  your  herth  a  few  minutes  ?  Its  rale  cold  out." 

"  This  is  a  wet  day  for  election,  Uncle  Lester.  I  am 
afraid  it  will  prevent  people  coming  out,"  said  Alice,  mak- 
ing room  for  the  old  man  by  the  fire.  "  Get  as  near  the  fire 
as  you  can.  I  am  afraid  you  are  cold  now." 

"La!  bless  your  dear,  little  soul,  child,  no,  I  aint — I'm 
as  happy  as  a  clam." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  got  in  your  vote  ?"  said  Leena. 

"  Sartain,  child,  sartain.  Them  air  youngsters  over 
there,  they're  wide  awake ;  and  they  begun  to  pull  and 
haul,  but  I  tell'd  'em  I  know'd  how  to  vote  afore  their 
fathers  was  born,  the  sassy  sarpents.  One  was  for  tem- 
perance, and  one  was  for  this  fiddle-faddle,  and  t'other  was 
for  that.  But  I  tell'd  'em  'twant  no  use.  I  know'd  noth- 


SEA-SPRAY.  455 

in'  about  their  hunkers,  nor  barn-burners,  nor  no  sich.  I 
was  a  reg'lar,  old-fashioned,  Jackson- Van  Buren  dimmy- 
crat,  and  I  was  gonter  have  a  hand  in  makin'  one  more 
president  o'  the  right  sort  o'  stuff;  and  eff  we  don't  git  one 
this  time,  th'aint  no  snakes.  Them  dare-devil  varmints, 
they've  got  a  wagin  now,  and  driv  off,  full  tilt,  to  the  poor- 
house,  arter  the  porposses  Them  poor  humans,  they  git  a 
ride  once  a  year,  sartin.  Well,  I'll  jest  go  'long  now,  for 
I've  got  to  jog  off  a  pretty  good  stretch  for  a  poor,  lame, 
worn  out,  good-for-nothin'  ole  critter.  The  Lord  be  with 
you ;"  —  and  the  old  man  took  his  long,  crooked  walk- 
ing stick,  and  turned  his  face  toward  home.  The  rain 
came  down  in  showers,  and  the  sun  looked  out,  at  times, 
with  a  wan  and  watery  gleam,  and  was  clouded  and  shone 
again,  and  finally  went  down,  and  election  was  over,  and 
staunch  little  Sea-spray  had  done  her  devoir  right  valiantly 
in  the  great  work  of  giving  the  great  republic  a  new  presi- 
dent, besides  sundry  other  little  achievements  of  secondary 
consideration,  over  all  of  which  she  was  serenely  and  so- 
berly exultant. 

"  Does  Miss  Leena  think  folks  allus  is  gwine  right 
straight  up  to  good  place  juss  'cause  they  says  they  be  ?" 
asked  Dury,  quietly  moistening  the  husks,  with  which  she 
was  braiding  foot-mats. 

"  Not  because  they  say  so,  Dury.  But  what  are  you 
thinking  of  now,  that  you  ask  such  a  question  ?" 

"  Cause  I  niver  kriow'd  as  was  inythink  wrong  there, 
and  I  was  thinkin'  eff  Miss  Thorn  got  there,  she  wouln't 
be  comf 'ble  eff  she  couldn't  be  findin'  fault  'bout  suthink 
'rother ;"  and  Dury  gave  way  to  a  subdued  inward  chuckle 
at  the  idea  of  Mrs.  Thorn  being  brought  to  a  non  plus  : 
"  Guh !  she  aint  got  there  yet.  She  needn't  be  so  dreffle 
crank  with  her  invites." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  bloom  and  verdure  of  Sea-spray  had  faded.  The 
summer  birds  and  the  summer  visitors  had  flown,  and  si- 
lence and  solitude  settled  over  the  scenes  they  had  occu- 
pied and  enlivened.  The  old  forest  trees,  that  shelter  the 
little  brown  structure  that  Dick  Brown  calls  "ow'-house," 
stand  sere  and  leafless,  their  long  gray  arms  creaking  and 
moaning,  as  the  north  wind  passes  coldly  up  from  the  bay. 
Dick  and  Judy  are  dosing  away  by  the  kitchen  fire-side. 
The  jug  has  not  been  replenished  in  some  days ;  and  though 
they  are  both  somewhat  afflicted  with  a  touch  of  their  pe- 
culiar maladies,  they  are  neither  of  them  so  plentifully 
saturated  with  their  favorite  specific  as  they  would  like  to 
be.  So  Judy  knits  a  little,  and  takes  a  pinch  of  snuff  to 
enliven  life,  and  Dick  puts  his  feet  on  the  crane  up  the 
chimney,  and  with  his  chin  on  his  breast,  listens  drowsily 
to  the  conversation  between  Mary  and  Lyme.  And  Mary 
sings,  and  works,  and  reads  her  Bible  and  Hymn  Book, 
and  goes  to  singing  and  prayer  meetings,  and  helps  Lyme 
with  his  lessons  ;  keeping  cheerfully  and  contentedly  and 
conscientiously  to  the  discharge  of  her  duties.  Lyme  has 
not  forgotten  yet  that  desolate  night  on  the  sea,  when  he 
first  learned  the  blessedness  of  that  training  which  teaches 
the  helpless  and  desolate  the  way  of  truth,  and  gives  them 


SEA-SPRAY.  457 

language  to  "  call  upon  the  Lord."  And  he  battles  val- 
iantly with  old  evil  habits,  and  tries  constantly,  and  earnest- 
ly and  honestly  to  "  be  a  good  boy." 

Sam  Listen  goes  occasionally  to  spend  an  evening  with 
Greenfield,  the  bustling  "  boss"  builder,  and  asks  round- 
about questions  about  the  cost  of  lumber,  and  lime,  and 
brick,  and  there  is  a  shrewd  guessing  "  along  down  the 
road,"  that  he  will  build  a  snug  little  cage  next  summer, 
and  coax  "  Dick's  canary"  to  sing  on  the  perch. 

Henry  Marven  has  gone  that  long  voyage  to  the  dreary 
Arctic  seas ;  and  single-minded,  straight-forward,  practical 
Anna  Belden  sings  in  her  father's  home,  and  makes  it 
happy ;  and  knits,  and  makes  "  tidies"  and  patch-work,  and 
hunts  the  district  library  for  books  that  treat  of  northern 
regions,  and  ice-bergs,  and  polar  oceans,  and  whale  fishing 
in  general ;  and  dreams  about  "Sir  John  Franklin"  and  the 
"tLost  sailors,"  but  never  speaks  an  impatient  word,  nor 
thinks  an  impatient  thought ;  feeding  the  hungry  and  cloth- 
ing the  naked,  nursing  the  sick  and  comforting  the  afflicted, 
moving  about  in  her  simple,  unobtrusive  goodness,  like  a 
stray  sun-beam,  shining  in  through  chinks  and  crevices,  to 
cheer  and  gladden  the  destitute  homes  and  dark  corners  of 
the  earth  ;  never  dreaming  that  she  is  making  out  her 
claim  to  a  high  place  among  the  inheritors  of  the  promised 
beatitudes. 

It  is  pleasant  autumn  twilight  now  in  Isaac  Austin's 
home.  The  work  of  the  short,  busy  day  is  done.  The 
doors  are  shut,  and  they  have  settled  to  their  pleasant  eve- 
ning's occupation.  Ailsie  has  her  knitting-work  in  her 
hands,  and  her  foot  on  the  cradle ;  and  Austin  is  regula- 
ting the  clock.  Jim  is  re-reading  "  Queechy"  aloud,  for  the 
benefit  of  Sam  Listen,  who,  with  his  face  turned  a  little 


458  SEA-SPRAY. 

away  from  the  reader,  is  winking  little,  short,  fidgety 
winks  to  keep  the  tears  from  blinding,  while  he  sand-papers 
his  new  axe-helve,  preparatory  to  his  felling  campaign 
among  the  mossy  old  fathers  of  the  "sciences." 

Steenie  is  husking  his  winter  store  of  chicken  corn, 
twisting  his  round,  curly  head  on  one  side,  and  screwing 
on  a  "  real  stout "  look,  as  he  tugs  at  an  obstinate  knub. 
They  had  been  talking  of  Ernest,  and  of  the  new  boat  his 
gift ;  and  Steenie  once  more  putforlh  his  unsolved  question, 
recalled  by  association  with  Ernest : 

"  Say,  now,  Father,  who  was  the  baddest  man  ?" 

Isaac  Austin  was  not  quite  certain  that  the  Bible  might 
not  tell,  and  it  would  be  a  burning  shame  for  him  not  to 
know  ;  so  he  held  his  peace  in  prudent  non-committal.  But 
Ailsie  looked  down  on  the  little  new-comer,  sleeping  in  its 
cradle,  and  up  at  her  honored  husband,  as  he  stood  wind- 
ing the  old  dark-cased  clock  in  the  corner,  and  round  on 
Jim,  at  his  patient  "labor  of  love,"  and  Steenie,  in  his  pro- 
vident innocence,  and  out  upon  the  graves  of  her  garnered 
treasures ;  and  she  said,  her  heart  swelling  in  the  fulness 
of  its  grateful,  chastened  joy  : 

"  It  is  the  man,  Steenie,  who,  though  '  crowned  with 
mercies  and  loving  kindnesses,'  never  thanks  God." 


It  was  a  dark  November  night — for  there  were  dark 
nights  sometimes  even  in  Sea-spray,  famous  as  she  is  for 
"  moonshine," — the  wind  howled  in  gusts,  and  the  rain  came 
down  in  fitful  sheets  ;  occasionally  slacking  up,  in  deceitful 
promise  of  ceasing,  and  then  pouring  again,  and  drenching 
the  unlucky  wight  who  had  been  deluded  into  venturing 


SEA-SPRAY.  459 

out.  Allen  had  seated  himself  with  a  book,  and  Leena 
and  Alice  had  drawn  close  to  the  fire  to  listen,  while  their 
father  read  aloud  the  election  news  from  the  "  Post."  The 
shaking  of  a  cloak  and  umbrella  in  the  office  heralded  a 
visitor,  and  Mr.  Alden  entered,  with  his  usual  cordial  sa- 
lutations. 

•  "This  is  a  wet  night  to  be  out,  Mr.  Alden,"  said  the 
Colonel,  laying  aside  his  paper,  and  advancing  to  meet  his 
guest. 

"Very  uncomfortable,  Colonel,  very  uncomfortable;  but  I 
was  particularly  anxious  to  hear  from  the  mail,  so  I  just 
thought  I  would  step  down.  I  have  a  short  note  from  our 
friend  Evelyn,  and  I  thought  I  would  drop  in  and  tell  you. 
He  left,  I  suppose,  yesterday,  was  in  good  health,  and  wrote 
in  tolerably  good  spirits.  You  do  not  imagine  this  storm 
will  inconvenience  him,  Colonel  ?"  asked  the  pastor. 

"  Hardly  !  It  is  not  very  severe — they  have  probably 
outrun  it.  It  is  very  much  like  the  storm  which  sent  him 
here — except  that  it  is  not  so  sudden." 

"  By  the  way,  Dalton  has  got  home.  He  tells  me  poor 
Copperly  laid  down  the  weary  burden  of  life  soon  after  he 
was  removed  from  Sea-spray,  only  praying  to  be  permitted 
to  sleep  and  be  at  rest.  Mrs.  Copperly  in  her  zeal  for 
'  emancipation '  and  '  progression,'  leaving  him  to  die, 
while  she  followed  her  'vocation'  of  attending  Conventions, 
and  carrying  out  measures  for  amelioration  and  reform. 
The  children,  having  been  weighed  in  the  balance  against 
that  more  imperative  duty,  and  found  wanting,  were 
handed  over  to  grandmother  Copperly.  Miss  Psyche  has 
resumed  her  less  ambitious  name  of  Hannah,  and  grown 
more  tractable  and  gracious  under  the  influence  of  better 
example  and  more  judicious  training." 


460  SEA-SPRAT. 

"  That  is  one  of  those  cases  of  suffering  and  domestic 
unhapiness  for  which  there  seems  no  excuse.  But  it  is 
wrong  perhaps  to  say  so,  for  almost  all  cases  of  sorrow  and 
miserable  destruction  of  human  peace,  are  traceable  to  the 
follies  or  vices  of  some  one  individual,"  said  Alice,  thinking 
more  particularly  of  Evelyn. 

"  Very  true — very  true — there  is  little  unhappiness  in 
this  life  for  which  sin  in  some  shape  is  not  accountable. 
There  is  sickness,  sorrow,  and  death,  of  course,  in  innu- 
merable cases,  which  no  aggravating  circumstances  em- 
bitter ;  but  in  instances  like  these  before  us,  we  cannot 
fail  to  see  the  footprints  of  sin.  It  teaches  us  all  a  les- 
son which  we  shall  find  it  profitable  to  study — for  it  be- 
hooves us  all,  '  when  we  think  we  stand,  to  take  heed  lest 
we  fall,'  remembering  the  scriptural  injunction,  '  Keep 
thy  heart  with  all  diligence,  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of 
life.'  » 


I  CAST  thec  on  the  waters — go  thou  forth, 
Dim  written  record  of  a  fireside  dream  ! 

Albeit  thy  words,  I  wot,  are  little  worth, 

And  on  thy  page  no  gems  of  wisdom  gleam  ; 

If  thou  from  care  one  weary  heart  beguile, 

Making  less  lone  one  lonely  hearth  the  while ; 

If  thou  one  foot,  brief  time,  from  error  wile, 
Though  small  the  meed  the  nameless  dreamer  gain, 
Thou  wilt  not  make  thy  venturous  voyage  in  vain. 


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